Coalescence
by DestinyShiva
Summary: 'The annual get-together was America's idea, and it was a good one; gave him quite a laugh, honestly. A good disguise for the utterly bitter mood he was in.' Multi-shot stories, same timeline, USUK - IN THAT ORDER. RPs with StarSpangledSilence
1. The Process of Becoming One

**I don't know if you've noticed… but there has been a rather sudden incline of UKUS fanfics. As a person that frankly **_**loathes**_** UKUS, I had to do something. Especially when my beloved, **_**beloved**_** USUK keeps getting mislabelled… be careful of the order, guys. Some have strict preferences, like I do.**

**This is an ****RP**** with my newest plaything – I mean, RP buddy – StarSpangledSilence from here on FF. (Not my girlfriend, but I do adore this one. Just not quite the same way).**

**Without further ado!**

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><p><span>Coalescence – The Process of Becoming One<span>

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><p>As he held onto his cocktail glass - cocktail glass, really! Since when did he ever drink pina coladas so frequently? - a certain pair of curious green eyes surveyed the crowd. Nation after nation laughed, drunk, and conversed with their friends and neighbouring countries. All in all, it was a friendly and joyous occasion, with a few mishaps like broken glasses - to which a few of the Southern European countries cheered for particularly - and tipsy shouts to add some spice into their evening.<p>

The annual get-together was ordinarily America's idea, and to be honest it was a good one; no humans allowed, they kept themselves to themselves, happiness getting shared through the bundles of those that bothered to come, or at least out of those invited. Naturally, a few middle Eastern countries were noticeably missing, along with a certain Russian. It was nice. For the most part.

England watched the proceedings from the next floor, taking pride in a little bit of 'quiet time' as people below him tugged one another to the designated dance floor for a little bit of Salsa along with the fast paced music. He was waiting carefully for the sudden moment where it switches to a waltz, and the couples/non-couples that had paired together tried to dance with one another in a romantic way. Last time when France and Prussia were making fun of Spain's flamenco style dancing, it had turned into a slow, ballroom number. Gave him quite a laugh, honestly. A good disguise for the utterly _bitter_ mood he was currently in.

America was, as ever, proud of his party idea. Every year, it had been a huge success- not one nation declined, and all were invited. Some needed persuading to come- "Kiku, it'll be fun! We'll serve free sake!"- but in the end, everyone came. And when they came, they danced, they laughed, they occasionally cried and fought as all nations do when locked up together, and they got dead drunk. This party was no different, of course. America's bright blue orbs gleamed as they probed the crowd of people, searching for someone else to talk to, a glass of champagne (fancy, yeah?) in his hand.

His search was short. The corners of his lips pulled up seeing one pair of overly bushy, wildly grown English eyebrows (they were attractive in a weird way), and a pair of brilliantly green eyes, mere splinters of radioactive emerald. Of course America went over, taking a bold swig of his drink, tasting the alcohol. "Iggy!"

Instantaneously, England's head slumped on top of the balcony banister and a loud, shrill groan left his lips. Trust; if anyone would interrupt his momentary tranquillity, it would be that man - the loudmouth of the world, the confidence trickster with nothing of note up his sleeves, one of the downright stupidest people that England had ever had the (dis)pleasure of being acquainted with. He was also special. The golden boy; the King of the hour. Re-surfacing, his eyes reduced to pin pricks to narrow their gaze.

"Lord and Heaven above." He commented, swirling his cloudy drink in one hand. "I have not nearly had enough drink to tolerate you for a single moment, America. Especially not when you use that blasted nickname. Piss off, will you?"

It was a normal enough greeting for a drunk England. Had he not been drunk, it would have been prim and proper and stiff like something was stuck up his ass. But in the wrong direction. "Good to see ya too, Iggy," came the cheerful reply, as the American took a long drink from his tall glass of bubbly, almost cider-like champagne. "You got something on your face- oh, wait, it's just the eyebrows! Haha!" And he laughed, casually, tossing his golden bangs back, sweaty from the partying atmosphere.

He honestly hadn't meant it. Personally, he found the eyebrows adorable and an inevitable addition to the Briton's face. And let's face it- even America knew that England was dead sexy for such an old man, such eyes, eyes that could dream, a fine, shaped nose, lips that weren't too full or too pinched (unless he was glaring at America- whole other story), a pointed chin. It all suited him well. If only he weren't such a priss.

The eyebrows, features of the moment, furrowed darkly almost instantaneously. He scowled deeply, bubbling of annoyance murmuring through him; knuckles tightening on the cocktail glass. "I think you need your glasses fixed, America. Or are you seeing double already? My eyebrows are absolutely bleeding_ fine_, and I do _not_ want to have another argument about this. I already smacked France around the head this morning, _America_. I suggest you get on your bike too!"

It delighted him to see England this angry. But America was also confused. On his bike? Maybe the Englishman had had just a little too much to drink that night... "Hey, Iggy, I don't have a bike. But if you wanted a ride, I'm sure I could find something!" stifling a laugh at how bright and innocent that sounded, America finished off his glass and set it on the ground, crossing his arms.

England stared at him blankly, as if he could not get the meaning of the joke. What was he—Oh. Oh, that blasted—"On your bike! Hop it! It means to jolly well fuck off and leave me in peace, alright?" The chronically British accent slurred, and gave a wild pointing gesture to further ram the point home. "It was lovely and peaceful until _you_ came and ruined it."

"Hop...it?" America shook his head and reached over, tilting the Briton's finger down (it had been pointing somewhere to his left.) "I think you've had a little too much to drink, now. You were always back with self control, you know?" Conversationally, America reached in, took his arm, and began to lead him away from the banister.

The resistance was not immediate, but strong all the same. England whipped his arm away, swivelling around and pointing his finger accusingly at the American. "I suggest you not try me, lad." He scathed, and reached to place his drink down next to America's. "You have a party to run - why don't you go and be a social butterfly somewhere else?"

"Woah, chill." America's hands went up, but his expression became kind of skeptical, challenging. "I was going to help run that party by making sure my guests weren't all drunk and lonely out here. But you know what? Whatever." He turned away, just a bit, before turning back. He took England's drinking glass back up. "You're not having anymore."

England watched, utterly bewildered as his glass was snatched. He had only put it down so that he could interact without distractions and having one hand full! He reached out and placed a hand on America's shoulder, turning him around abruptly. "Excuse me? Where on Earth are you going with that?" England asked, unamused. He held out his hand. "Give me my drink, America."

The American smirked and drew away, holding the glass high up. The remaining liquid inside sloshed around the curved sides, warning. "I was going to dump it. You've drunk too much again. It's not even my birthday yet," he challenged, blue gems glinting.

If England's face represented a clock, he would have just struck the hour; whole expression flinching at that one mention. He held out his hand even more insistently, taking a step forwards. "You will give me back my drink, America, or _God help me_ I will lose my patience."

America stepped back one, but his expression hadn't changed. "Ooh. Scary." He knew it was all just making the Brit madder, but it gave him some dark, internal satisfaction deep down. "I'm not gonna give it back. You lose your patience all the time."

"Are you determined to make me want to throw you off of this indoor balcony of yours, America? Because don't think I won't!" England snapped, and made a lunge for his pina colada. Fine, it was not like he was desperate for the drink - it was all out of principle. America had absolutely no right to deny it to him; thus, he started acting stubbornly like a child, only wanting something when it was taken away.

America's eyes widened, and he caught England around the waist, where he'd been seconds away from either tumbling down a set of stairs or falling clear off a railing, both of which would have been unusually painful. "Dude!" The drink splattered as America staggered back from the impact, dragging them both onto the floor, the sweet liquid dripping everywhere. "You need some anger management or something, crap, did you see that?" Good thing he'd been a hero.

Straightening up, England shot daggers in the form of glares at America; wiping down his now somewhat wet shirt. "Oh! Now look what you've done!" He growled as if it was all America's fault that his nice three piece ensemble was mortifyingly maimed by effectively water.

"What _I've_ done?" America looked at him incredulously, some of the drink dipping down his hair, down his nose, and yes, his own button up and jeans were pretty messed up too. He got up and looked England in the eye. "I think I just saved you, that's what I've done! You're too damn drunk!"

"I'm _not_ drunk, you _moron_!" England continued, ripping his tailored glove off of his hand and chucking it straight at America's boisterous, stupid face. "I only had two and a half pina coladas! Do you even know how many units there are in a pina colada? Only about two!"

"Look, you're even stripping!" Accused the American, holding up the glove as shameful evidence. "You are drunk! You just tore that off and threw it at my face!" it was kind of a girly thing to do, America mentally noted, but didn't say it aloud. "You're drunk! Accept it, British one!"

"I threw it at your face because I think it looks prettier when I can't see it! And I am _not_ stripping - I just had nothing else to throw at you!" England further complained, and roughly staggered to his feet.

America glared. "Well, I think your face looks better when your _eyebrows _aren't growing all over it!" He went there. And just glared. It frustrated him, honestly, how badly they always fought with each other every time they saw each other, regardless of how it started.

England bristled and stared at him wide-eyedly, as if he was just about to run over and smack him - white hot temper turning almost too scorching to bear. "One more word, America."

"Bingo." The American stood his ground.

That was it. England stormed straight over to him and smack the bastard, he very well did. The noise was even audible over the music that nations were still obliviously dancing to on the floor below. Huffing, England held his now stinging hand in the air; ready to strike twice, unlike lightning, if needed be.

Did England just... Hit him? If America weren't so frustrated, he would have laughed. Instead, he caught the Englishman's wrist before his next strike and slammed him up against the wall, blue eyes narrowed, looming over him. "That was a really bad move. You're pissing me _off_, Arthur."

Had he not been so hot-headed, England would have realised that he had gone far, far over the line. As it happened, he merely narrowed his eyes further until they were almost detesting slits, and shook his wrists to try escape. "Maybe you should have held your tongue in the first place," he grumbled.

"Or _maybe_ you should stop being so damn selfish and realise-" His grip on that bony wrist tightened. "-that I'm not always fucking trying to do you in. _Maybe_, you could stop acting like you got something stuck up that tight ass of yours. _Maybe_ you'll learn a couple of things!" They glared at each other there, seething in the dim light.

England tried not to let it show on his face that America's grip was hurting a lot, cutting off the circulation to his hand. He could not stop himself from wincing, but maintained his supposed strength. "You should realise yourself, America, that I was perfectly happy until you came along. Who is the problem-child now?"

And he was still arguing! God, would it kill the man to get along? "Shut the fuck up!" America pressed their foreheads together, an intimate gesture that lacked all the intimacy in the world. "Is it a sin to talk to you now? You're getting old, that's it. Every time I come near you start bitching on me like some damn cat!"

"It's only because you, you damn idiot, make me so restless." England gritted his teeth and inhaled sharply, displaying his scathing discomfort, breathing in America's scent because he was just so... so close...

"So it's my fault again? Dirty _liar_. You make me just as restless, just as frustrated, just as-" A glare, he couldn't finish the sentence, only pushed him harder into the wall, his glasses slipping from the sweat that had formed, the tension forming hot air all around them both, thickening the invisible steam that trapped both men.

"...As...?" England prompted, panting from overexertion over America's lips.

Just as fucking _horny_, for one thing. There was nothing hotter than England when he was set on edge. A seconds hesitation, then America roughly crushed their lips together, all need and anger, forcing his tongue inside of his mouth.

America was the golden boy; the shining star of the moment, the superpower of the world. He infuriated him entirely, and he was at times stupid beyond compare. But he was also he most attractive nation England had the (dis)pleasure of knowing in a long, long time. He was incomparable - and he loathed it. He loathed the fact that he loved America so much.

England instantly begun kissing back, tilting his head so America could get better access to his opened mouth. Arms wrapped around his neck, tugging the other man closer onto him. It was nonsensical - it was pathetic, annoying, and ruthlessly agitating - but it was also_ right_.

Ooh- that felt nice. The American pulled that slim form close, and they stayed that way, flush against each other, kissing as if their lives depended on it. America devoured that mouth- dominating the kiss entirely, claiming, possessive arms came around him, he could taste that alcohol on his lips.

Years of sexual frustration burst into fireworks.

England was the one that broke it; which was amazing, since it was his head forced up against the wall. Maybe America just knew exactly when he needed oxygen. He panted, eyes will narrow but they were half-lidded in another fashion entirely. "...United States of America..." His low pitched voice whispered, along with audible breaths. "That was one hell of a kiss."

America took in the way England looked up, alluringly, through those long, translucent lashes, felt himself weaken just that much. "Arthur Kirkland." His voice was stronger, but filled with the same want. "I'll show you much more than a kiss." His blue eyes, usually the colour of summer skies, darkened.

"You better," England growled under his breath, deliberately pushing up against him, chest aligned to chest. His hands fisted in America's clothing, putting at the fabric hard enough for there to be a few clicks from stretched threads. "Or I'll never forgive you for your imprudence."

"I've been known for being imprudent, y'know."

The American slid his hands down, squeezing the Brit's ass before lifting so that England's legs could wrap around. His previous fury flooded his body with adrenaline, a trickle of sweat running down his neck, and America carried England to his bedroom. A large portrait of Washington stood across from the four poster, his star spangled sheets messily made from this morning, and that's where America deposited him.

England snorted, looking at the gigantic portrait of the first president of independent America. He rolled his eyes and laid back, legs still wrapped fully around America's hips. "Two things; firstly, what about all the other guests?"

"Screw the other guests." America didn't bat an eye, but his hands twitched with want at the sight of the disheveled Englishman laid out in front of him. "What's the other?"

"George is watching me." England said, indicating to the portrait behind the American, smirking dangerously.

And he was. George Washington's soulful eyes looked at them both, his expression somber, almost curious. America snorted. "Well, he did tell us to screw the British and start over." But he detached himself from England and drew the curtains around that portrait. Having your dad watch as you were about to have sex would have been too awkward, especially in their case.

Then he closed the door, but left it unlocked, heading back to his Englishman, wanting. "Now we play."

"So," England mused, rolling over onto his stomach and glancing at America over his shoulder, gazing through thick sets of darkish blond eyelashes. "Do you take frustrated Britons back to your bedside often?"

England was just asking for it. Slowly, America crawled over him, his weight entirely on his elbows as he leaned down to brush his lips against the nape of England's neck, that glimpse of skin. "Maybe I do, but I never seen one as good as this." He lowered his hips just a bit, getting his half hard length rub against his ass.

"That's a no, then." England interpreted, letting out a long, simmering 'mmm' as America rocked his erection over the clothed and most protruding curve on his body. He flipped back over and grabbed America's collar, roughly pulling him up and over the top of him. Emerald eyes _bore_ onto cerulean so darkly, so intensely. "But that's okay. Neither do I." He tittered and sealed their mouths again in another incessant, pushy kiss.

And who was America to start an argument when they could be fucking? He returned the kiss, slipping their tongues together, mind filled with that dark green, enchanted, caught, almost. Then he pulled back and his fingers began to impatiently tug at the Englishman's suit, fumbling with the buttons, frustration growing. "You're still the same in bed, you know that? It's a good thing you're sexy as hell."

"Sexy as hell - that's a new one." The Briton mumbled, amused.

England watched America clumsily fumble with the buttons and rolled his eyes. He nudged those long, slender hands away and got to finishing it himself. Once done, he parted the fabric to reveal a soft body - not devoid of muscle but not overloaded; rather, a plethora of sleek curves as the line of his body moved down fluidly to his hips, and pallid skin, only tainted by scars of wars left far, far behind.

America's eyes took that all in, every inch of that pale, silky skin, and his arousal only grew. Maybe- just maybe there was a reason all these countries wanted to have trade relations with the Briton, despite how disagreeable he could be. A tongue traced up the curve of England's neck, and America suckled that soft skin, moving to that milky throat, hands roaming to his heart's content.

Sighing in satisfaction, England tilted his head to give the other nation more access; licking his own lips as he imagined what it would be like to watch it occurring - an out-of-body experience. Yet, being right in the front seat was the most gratifying of all. America's tongue performed wonders, allowing the hairs on the back of his neck to bristle and stand on end. "Most attentive a man, aren't you?"

"What, you never knew that?" came the slightly muffled reply, as America kissed down to a pink nipple, and curled his tongue about it, teasing it to hardness, hands now at the Briton's belt. If he had known that his England were this- that England were this good, and vice versa, it might have saved a lot of controversy. Texas fogged up.

America's work earned a sharp intake of breath, and England was disarmed and powerless to resist as the tongue slipped over his skin - of which tasted vaguely alcoholic after their earlier accident. He smiled crookedly, hands slowly making their way up from America's shoulders and clutching in his perfectly blond hair.

"Not bad, huh?" America whispered, his mouth lavishing that one abused nub with kisses and nibbles, lifting a hand and flicking the other, wanting to make the Brit lose it. His other hand slipped in his pants, under that loosened belt, and slowly stroked him through that thin layer of fabric.

"...Better if you stopped treating me like this isn't a spur of the moment shag." England snapped at him, shuffling uncomfortably as America's palm glided over his covered skin. While not quite as solid as America, he was still developing in hardness; stimulation helping wonders. But hot as it was, it was disconcerting too. So delicate were those hands; frustratingly so. He was treating him like a lover. Oblivious to how it hurt.

A small frown appeared on the American's face, his jaw set, a small sigh. "Right. Was just...warming up, 's all." He'd finally gotten the opportunity to touch the man, and...it was about the closest to a rejection as they could get in their position. America yanked down England's dress pants, a little bitterly, and leaned in to kiss once more.

This was nothing gentle and longing. This was ferocious, a deep kiss, almost like a war between their lips.

Like surging battles and rough seas. Their tongues clashed for dominance, although the victor was obvious. Fight back as he might, England went willingly as America's tongue delve into his mouth and tasted him for all that he was worth. He merely sucked in return, taking in as much of America as he could get, while he deliberately spread his legs for the other to accommodate him in-between.

And America did, he pushes their hips together, searching for that spark of friction, the spark of pleasure that would soon make him forget it all. And it was such a good kiss, the best he'd ever- they pulled back, panting, that one string of translucent saliva slicking them together. And America was the first to break that connection this time, determined. He pulled down England's boxers, leaving him naked, and frankly, vulnerable on the bed below him.

It was immediately clear that England found this to be entirely unfair - and not for bad reason. He squirmed unhappily; curling his knees to cover his crotch and folding his hands over his body to conceal that from view too, making him arch and seem more flexible than ever. "This is not right—!" He complained, eyes raking up and down the American. "You haven't taken a single thing off yet!"

The American involuntarily licked his lips, watching as England writhed around and hid himself from view. Then he sighed and raised an eyebrow. "Well- who says you get to see me all naked anyway? Isn't that...a lover's privilege?" he countered, watching his flexible partner.

"Who said you could see _me_ entirely naked, you greedy thief? Stealing my humanity!" England growled in response, tightening his legs in half and bringing his knees all the way to touch his chest. He swallowed slowly, and let his eyes befall America again. "You say only a lover gets to see you in your splendour?"

America hesitated, thought it over. Then nodded, and just stripped. The black shirt slipped off of his broad shoulders, and he pulled off his jeans and boxers in one. "Only."

He was quiet for the first time.

England was frozen and silent too, looking on as America ridded himself and them of all barriers. A startled heart erupted in the Englishman's chest, suddenly thumping so vigorously that it could be seen making his ribcage jolt. Goosebumps were on his arms. The implications were so immense.

Slowly, green orbs rolled upwards, catching America in the eyes. "...Alfred...?" He murmured, breathless.

It was like time had frozen. America finally met those green eyes again, and for a moment- something soft and pure and magical. But that disappeared, and America broke that silence. "Look, Arthur- even if you push me away again, it doesn't mean we can't fuck, alright? So we may as well just get it over with." It was a little bitter, but for him, America pulled on a small smile.

"...Shut up." England commanded, and slid closer. His fingertips lifted into the air and he delicately brushed them against the American's soft cheek, feeling the curvature of his skin and buzzing at the way it radiated heat. Did he realise he was blushing profusely? Like he had made a startling discovery but would not speak of it?

England should know. He felt exactly the same.

Soft lips pressed against America's; not pushy, forceful, nor clashing. This time it was chaste. Genteel, even. Questioning.

America had felt like an island through all this, and he'd just been devoured by feeling. First rage, then confusion, then, at those soft, warm lips against his own, a nameless, overwhelming emotion that made him ache. He kissed back, his own lips moving against the electricity, and this kiss, ever so soft, felt more alive than any of the previous.

He pushed England back on the bed, towering over him, much softer now.

Much slower this time, England sunk back against the sheets and broke the kiss; brilliant eyes glimmering, as if with hope. Crushing hope, that tugged even his own heart knowing he was not a man that easily received everything he wanted. Or needed; if not only now, after the prospects were jangled straight, cruelly, in front of his face. "...I am not deaf, Alfred." He whispered. "I am a poet at heart. I know implications when I see them."

America looked into those glistening green gems. "You might be a poet, and you can see implications-" He tilted his head. "But I'm an artist. I feel things before I see them, and I believe in dreams." And every time they touched- wasn't it electrifying, liberating? Wasn't it special? America's eyes had softened now, looking at the Englishman- no less lust, but just...a hint more.

"Even dreams that can so easily become real...?" England murmured, arching upwards and leaning into those lips; merely millimetres away, but without letting their bodies touch. No contact, apart from a nurturing hand smoothing down America's cheek, tilting his chin upwards.

"But was it really that easy?" One eye cracked open, showing just a splinter of brilliant blue. The line between them had been so fragile nowadays, the tension and pulling from both of them had reduced it to little wisps clinging together. "I want you," America let him know.

"Good." England slurred, naked legs beginning to stroke a path up America's calves, thighs, and finally his hips; wrapping around him in a perfect hold, erections delicately rubbing. "...Because I _need_ you."

The American nation let out a low groan and pushed down, never knowing the full potential of eroticism that England had. Quickly, he shifted back, and nudged those long legs of his wider apart, rubbing at that small entrance with a finger. "I don't think I have lube."

"I have a mouth, and I am not afraid to use it." England pointed out, although still pressed himself down to chase more stimulation from the fingertip rubbing his needy entrance, which even twitched with want.

America saw it, giving a small smirk. "Desperate?" He lifted three fingers up to said mouth, and pressed them in. He immediately felt the wet muscled glide over them, shivering.

"Impatient." England answered, before his mouth was filled to the brim with fingers. He sucked lightly, letting America judge how soaked they were while he enjoyed the moment. Swirling his tongue over the rough underside made him bristle, taste buds so sensitive and ticklish. Getting an idea from the sensitivity, England forced his tongue into the gap between two fingers, licking the crevice right at the end in order to make America squirm.

America slipped his fingers away before his thoughts turned too devious and stared at England. Had he done that on purpose, the sly little...? Nonetheless, he placed his dripping fingers now at that tiny hole, rubbing around it, just slipping in before gliding right back out. Finally, after teasing a few more seconds, his first finger slid in.

Never before had a man been so terribly teasing to him, and England almost gurgled with pleasure by the time a finger had even been inserted inside of him up to the first knuckle. There was so many nerves on the rim of his entrance that he almost craved the stimulation again when the saliva slick digit plunged in his body. "Aaah..." He sighed, drawling as he spanned his legs further apart. He knew his vices by now; impossibly tight, suffocating heat being the most alluring of them all. He was good, even for seconds.

He was going to be tight. America could tell this by the time the first finger was inside, and he twisted it around just slightly to loosen the taut muscles. A long while of probing and spreading, and then he pressed in that second finger- the two digits immediately clamped together by his tight opening.

England stayed still, merely concentrating on not letting his muscles tighten and constrict around America's digits any more than natural; knowing that if he did not relax, it would hurt a lot more. Instead he watched the expressions flit over America's face, amusement and longing far too clear. The discomfort of his erection was getting to him, he knew. England could see it; that dusky pink head throbbing hotly in the cool, crisp air, waiting to be rammed home and delivered. Somehow. How America fitted that glorious cock of his in his trousers, he would never know.

America's concentration was evident. He had managed to scissor the entrance wide enough to snugly fit two fingers, and he now added a third, cramming inside now. "How...Arthur, you're not a virgin, are you?" Either that, or he hadn't had any action in over a couple of decades. He licked his lips in anticipation, his cock twitching after noticing just how tight it was after just three fingers. Fuck.

England felt like he could have exploded into a fit of laughter, but managed to hold himself steady. He shook his head. "No. No, I'm not." He said with some amusement, bucking down against the intruding objects spreading him wide apart, swallowing them further inside; but not far enough. "It's been a few months?" He affirmed, as if that was clarification enough.

"Months...?" breathed America, mystified. It was true that England was small, slender, with curves that could make America drool if he thought about them long- well. He was unbearably tight, and he finally managed to squeeze in a third finger, trying to spread them apart and stretch properly.

"You're so...so, so tight."

England snorted, shaking his head. Too much nostalgia of insults far past by now. 'Too uptight even for the stick up his ass' was one that reoccurred. "I could joke about how I find it hard to 'open up'," England begun, licking his lips as his lower half was pushed purposefully apart. Heat was building in his stomach, stacking and stacking. "But even that would be tasteless."

"I wouldn't have joked about it if I knew it meant I'd never get in it," America told him. He'd never have said anything if he'd known that maybe England didn't hate his guts out. The finger were pulled out. "I want you. Now." And yes, his erection was needy and had beads of pre-cum forming by now. He spread that, hoping it would provide As good enough lubricant.

England saw his straining need and sat up, sucking a long, preparing breath. America was _large_ and experience told him far, far too many times that this was going to _hurt_. The biggest boys always did. "How do you want to do this...?" The Briton purred, lightly stroking his fingertips from America's collar bones right the way down to his stomach. "Missionary? Behind? Riding?"

The American's breath hitched, grew heavier. That silky, seductive voice- voice of a young god, honestly- "Anything, fuck, anything-" Images blurred, those hazed green eyes and those long fingers, his smile, everything- "Come on, ride me then..." The American first pulled him over, kiss blazing through them. "So I'll go deeper-"

England pushed him towards the headboard, making the American settle sitting up, resting against the cushions just in case he jarred and banged himself otherwise. Lips sealed over America's, and while guided by the other's hands, he soon had himself positioned over the top of his cock; ready to plunge his heat-oozing head inside of his body with not a moment to spare. Grasping hold of both America's cheeks, he angled his face so England could kiss him deeply, rubbing the pre-cumming shaft under his eager entrance.

A groan, feeling that tight hole at his sensitive head, and he was kissing _England_, they were really going to do this, weren't they- America let out a curse, feeling that suffocating heat clench and descend around his dark red, straining cock; it was heaven, was hell, they both moaned into the kiss, and kissed harder yet, easing through the penetration.

"A-Alfred—!" He had to gasp to stop himself from crying out, stifling his attempt at noise. Just as he predicted; it hurt. A combination of no real lubricant, him being too small, and America just being far, far too large for his body. As he pushed down, devouring America's cock into his barely accepting body, England remembered his limps trembling - almost as much as the oscillating heart ramming away in his chest.

But it felt oddly good. Maybe he was a masochist. Or maybe it was just because it was _him_. He could bear it, just. Trying not to make any more noises than a few struggling breaths, England pressed their lips together so frantically, so desperately, that it was like he was trying to merge the two of them as one.

America pressed back against him, as if that would ease some of the burn of penetrating, because even he could feel how he had barely managed to cram himself inside. And, oh, the bliss- He ravished England's mouth entirely, taking it all, eyes half lidded and swirling with lust. In all his relevantly, reasonably short life- America had never felt so completed, or so pleasured in such a way. It was almost dirty- here was his caretaker, the man who had raised him and bathed him, his worst enemy, his closest ally- with him, in _his_ bed, doing such filthy, wonderful things. With a small noise, America bucked up.

"...Ngn... T-There. That's all of you..." England declared, trying not to let his voice break out into a not so prideful whimper. He laughed shakily, just as amazed as America was that they were doing this. They were having sex. The Briton found America's hands and forcibly clasped them at his hips, laying his own on top. Using America's added strength, he slid himself up on that throbbing shaft, _twitching_ with need, and slumped back down again heavily. A bitter moan left his lips, and he tossed his head back. "Oh, oh… _United States_...!" Formal title bubbling from his mouth scandalously, but seductively.

Did he really just call him that? It was the stupidest, sexiest, most arousing thing he'd ever heard up to now, and America let out a slightly animalistic, wanting growl, his hands guiding the slender hips in movement and weight.

"E-England...oh, God, Englaaand..." He could feel every inch of that beautiful hole clinging onto him as England was lifted up, and then at the down, all the heat flushed back and sent pleasurable jolts back up his spine.

England rose and repeated the motion, picking up a steady pace, starting to get a feel for it as he effectively balanced and bounced his hips over America's erection. The difficulty and pain was written all over his face, eyebrows turned upwards as if worriedly and his lower lip trembling slightly; but he continued all the same. Letting America's hands keep guiding him solo, England wrapped his arms around his chest and neck, clinging on for lineage and comfort. He buried his head on America's shoulder, stifling his noises.

It was then that America heard a small whimper, coming somewhere from his left, where England had been hiding his face now as they moved. And now another one- high pitched and pained. America stopped moving after that. "England...? Arthur?" He was questioning. "You okay there?"

A slow nod was the response, and England re-surfaced. His cheeks were sporting a burning red blush, dustings of pink, and those lids were at half mast. "I'm fine, Alfred." He murmured, stroking his finger underneath America's chin. "Because it's you. Don't stop now."

He was beautiful like that, his face a sinful scarlet, dark green standing out, his sweaty bangs plastered to his forehead- which America slowly brushed away. Even he knew that it wasn't very functional or realistic to cram something that big up a man and expect him to just feel good. "Alright." He gave those parted lips a soft kiss. "But if you cant take it anymore...let me know."

England exhaled a laugh, and shook his head. "As if I'd do that." He whispered against America's lips, before they pushed back together; fitting like pieces of a puzzle, clinging and needing. By now, while the pain was not entirely subsiding, England was getting used to it. He slammed his body up and down on America's cock, more and more pre-cum protruding from the other's tip making his descend and ascend gradually easier.

A contented hum escaped America's lips as England sank back down on him, and he pushed up, just so- "Masochist. You've always been that way..." Their cadence grew wilder, heated breathing and eventually, America had to close his eyes at that blazing pleasure. This was most definitely a treat, he'd never had anyone so tight and so warm around him before, and it just made a world of difference that it was England.

Pulling his arms back from hugging around America's torso, England leant back and got a better feel for what he was doing. The rises and slumps were gaining in pace, muscles contorting and clamping with faster degrees of heat. Then there was a sudden call from British lungs, and England's eyes flew open; though they were unseeing. A plethora of stars and black and white shimmering through his vision like a head rush. "A-Alfred...!"

There. That was it. That one angle that was finally discovered as America shifted them, gazing at his partner, whose eyes were still quite wide, the pleasure in them evident, his expression now rather wild. Like that, in that angle, America bucked up into him, felt those snug walls constricting. "You like that?" America's voice had grown somewhat hoarse.

"Is there anyone in the _world_ who would not like that?" England moaned through belated breath, panting loudly as another combined thrust up from one and down from the other plunged America deep into his body again, jamming his prostate dead-on. "Alfred, I-I can't—" He gritted out through his teeth, legs beginning to tremble too much for him to lift himself up from the immediate pleasure.

America's hands, calloused and slightly rough but strong, came and lifted England's shaking hips, guiding him through the entire process. It was all the more arousing, now that he could hear, practically feel England's satisfaction radiating from that supple form, and, much more quickly, America began thrusting up.

England called out for more; even if it was not verbally, the way his expression was tugged into silent joy and lungs ceased, almost voluntarily causing asphyxiation from pleasure, were perfect signs. The world shuddered deliriously around him, and he could not concentrate on anything other than those hands, that cock – his _face_; that was the most alluring of all. America looked downright gorgeous, arousal written all over him. It was not another thrust that made England reach his inevitable climax, but the way his lips twitched as if suppressing a smile. He shouted America's name, spilling across their chests.

He clenched. Ever so tightly, he clenched, and oh, the way he called out his name, desperately, as if, maybe, America were the one most dear to him, most beloved- The American felt his ironclad, heroic heart flutter before he came as well, shooting the warm fluid up and deep into England- before it gushed out from lack of space. America pulled England down to him.

Once it was over, England stayed in his position; warmed by the essence dripping out of him. He leant down and captured America's lips, delicately cupping his chin. This time was more romantic than before, post-coital caringly. Slowly, he lifted and slid America out of him, cum spilling down his thighs, before he laid down next to him; still huffing for breath. "Alfred, I..."

America really liked that kiss. Hollywood dreams and American hopes bursting as he gazed into those green eyes, and then took in that supple, slender form, all pale skin and fine features, scattered scars and faraway fights. "Yeah?" He didn't sound annoying, or loud this time. It was soft.

As England wrapped his arms around America's torso, slyly pressing their naked forms together, he closed his eyes and relaxed. He flopped his head on the other's shoulder, enjoying this. Not fighting for once, not acting discomforted. It was nice. "...Nothing." He said, deciding against ruining it. Why take the risk?

America looked at him, carefully, sweat soaked skin on skin, soothing, comfortable. He didn't want to ruin it either, as he was afraid to do if he should kill that silence with words. But then, really, when would he get another chance? Wasn't that what being American was about, taking opportunities?

He took a breath, and tilted his head down a bit. "Well. I've...I've got something I want to say to you."

As America looked down, England gazed up; the whole Earth in their eyes of earthly green and sea blue. "Do you?"

The man swallowed, clearing his throat. Then he gave a nervous laugh. "I'm kind of scared to say it. Promise...not to run out of the room screaming?" His arm instinctively curled around that slim figure.

"That's certainly a first. You, afraid to let your words be heard." England said adoringly, trying to ignore the ache of his hips as he shimmied closer, extending his neck to give the American a kiss underneath the jut of his jaw. "I cannot promise until I know, Alfred."

That kiss comforted him a but, that sweet disposition more so. "Well." He swallowed. "I guess there's no other way to say it. You can't hate without passion, and you can't be angry without passion. We've been through all that, so I guess the last part...would just be...I...Aw, you're making me sound like a girl!" He complained.

"Just say it, Alfred!" England prompted, nudging him. "Christ—Why are you making it so difficult? It's like you're trying to tell me that you love me!"

America froze, breathing turning a bit shallow. "No, course not! I just...ha..." His smile never faded.

The slimmer framed man paused, broke away, stared, heart pumping faster. Breathless. "Alfred—Alfred, you _weren't_...?"

America laughed, widely, freely. "Course not! To...to you? Never! Why would I... Was just gonna ask...spaceship..." His eyes went slightly cold.

England lost his patience. Why waffle with words, terminology, when there was something between them that he could feel? Attentive, controlling, insistent-But there. Theirs. He grabbed hold of America's chin and wrenched it upwards so they looked eye to eye, straightening himself out. "...Say it."

America bit his lip, looking at those startling green gems. Then looked away. Their line was delicate enough, and England, yes _England_ had made it clear enough what he thought of the matter.

He looked down. "It was nothing."

"Oh, like bloody _hell _was it nothing." England growled, and forced their lips together almost bruisingly. The clash softened quickly, till the Briton was merely making love to him with his lips, deepening the kiss until it made a fierce, sticky pop when he parted it again. "I... I think I might... you, America—Alfred—I..."

"I love you." Alfred opened his eyes and struggled up, reaching for his clothes, pulling his shirt back over his head, messing up that gelled hair.

"You love me," England sighed mystically, as if he just could not believe it. How could he be hearing those words? After all the hatred they had been through? The fights, the clash, the chaos... the... the feelings. Feelings of annoyance, frustration... longing. Since when did his world start revolving all around _him_?

Glancing up, England was startled to see America beginning to get changed. "...Alfred, wait—!" After shouting it on the spur of the moment, he went utterly silent; mouth open and tongue-tied, staring up frantically at him, afraid he'd just_ leave_.

America stopped, underpants halfway on, then shrugged and proceeded to dress. He'd known what would happen. England would regain his full motherly senses and start by loving hugs and gentle kisses, then explain, in pity, how sorry, how very sorry he was. No, he'd already left his pride back there, he might as well leave like a man. "Look, Arthur. England. It's okay, alright? I got it...I just had to put it out there."

"No Alfred, fucking _heck_. It's _not_ okay! You're trying to walk out on me without even _listening_ to me!" England snapped at him. Feelings of hope from the discovery boiling and converting to feelings of anger in such quick succession - one of the things that made him special. "Stop it, stay there, and _listen_!"

Well, at that, America stopped. So it was worse than that, England was pissed off. Dreading it, America turned, stiffly, and stared.

With some difficulty, England tried to raise himself to his feet. The going was unsteady since he was standing on a bed, and his body was still trembling from their sex. Evidence of that, by now, was trailing down his thighs. A furious finger was pointed in America's direction. "I am... I'm in love with you, Jones!" He scathed, and then weakly smiled - too overwhelmed not to. "I love you, you bastard. As if you are too stupid to see that...!"

A moment of silence. America's mouth was slightly open, and he stared at his godlike British love, hardly daring to believe it- maybe his happily ever after was just around the corner, was even closer than he'd thought... A small smile spread on his face, before he was laughing, jumping on the bed, and pulling that silly, loveable Brit of his into his arms.

Said Brit exclaimed in surprise, wind almost knocked straight out of him as America overbalanced and pulled him down onto the bed. They landed with a soft flump, and England barked out a laugh. What was that, they say, about 'falling in love'? "...You are the most _difficult_ man alive." He said adoringly.

America had his arms wrapped around that warm, breathing figure, and he leaned in boldly and kissed England on the cheek. "And you complain like a girl!" He whispered, affectionately.

England snorted in annoyance. "I don't get it." He verbalised. "Why you? Why, of everyone, did it have to be _you_?"

Special. His golden boy. King of the hour, probably king of his heart as well.

A small pout, as America moved down, nuzzling his cheek and his neck in total devotion, blue eyes bright in the close darkness now. The sun had set close to an hour before- "You got lucky," he murmured. "And got the hero." The stars were shining.

"Well, mm. In that case... poor, neglected little world." England smirked, leaning over so their eyes could meet and connect. "...I'm going to have to keep the 'hero' all for myself." He said seductively, before sealing their feelings with a kiss, clamping on for dear, dear love - making sure that he knew that he was all his.

* * *

><p><em><strong>While this is a one-shot, StarSpangledSilence and I intend to make this into a series of related one-shots. Call this the start of the relationship. Life will go on from there.<strong>_

_**(If there is any particular situation you'd like to see, we'll see what we can do?)**_

**I asked her what she wanted to put as a afterword. She replied; 'Uh... 'dont judge me I love Zoe?'', so I guess that's what I'll put xD. FYI, that's my name.**

**Thank you for having the patience to read this, even to those who skimmed. (You know who you are). Cheers~!**


	2. Life Starts Now

Chapter Two: Life Starts Now

* * *

><p><em>"Hey Arthur<em>

_It's Al. I was looking at a box of tea today...and I thought of you because it was bitter but it smelled real nice if you take it slow. So. Uh, we haven't seen each other in a while and I wondered if you wanted to go out today maybe if you had time and if you wanted to and everything is OK. So Uh, if you can, give me a call, and we'll figure something out cuz I'm free this week. K. That's all..._

_Yours,_

_Alfred"_

Alfred leaned back from the screen, staring at it. It wasn't good enough. He'd crossed out sincerely, love, like, your friend- it all just didn't sound right or was just too weird, so he sent that. That short, pathetic paragraph, seemingly simple, had taken the man half an hour. And so...before he regretted it and delete this one too, he braved it and clicked 'send'.

* * *

><p><em>"My Dear Alfred,<em>

_Firstly, may I point out to you that I take offense to you finding a box of tea that is, quote, 'bitter' and thinking of me is in fact an insult and I will take it as thus._

_Secondly, I don't know if you have seen a map recently, but I happen to be on the other side of an ocean. Of which takes eight hours, or more, to cross via flight. So I believe that going out 'today' might be somewhat an impossibility unless you have already set off._

_Thirdly, no. I will not give you a call. We both have e-mail, and are capable of using it. Also, yes, I am free this week as well - you must know, because this is my annual break. I don't suppose you deliberately timed yours along with mine, did you?_

_Yours too, I suppose,_

_Arthur. UK of GB and NI."_

* * *

><p>Alfred got this a few hours later after avidly staring at his inbox for what seemed like an eternity. He winced a bit- it seemed like his clever analogies hadn't gone right, and Arthur was no less soft than he had been before...before...<p>

It took a long while before he could reply to that, and in the end he gave up and called, nervous for once. Dialing...ringing...

The other side picked up none-too-immediately with a click and a crackle. A sigh was heard even before the transceiver was placed against the other person's ear. "Alfred," Arthur queried without even needing to check who had called. "I believe the e-mail said that the internet was a perfectly valid form of communication if you wished to arrange something. Moreover, do you know what time it is?"

That was definitely not a very welcoming greeting. Alfred pressed the receiver to his ear, bit his lip, looking out the window. "I just wanted to hear your voice, Artie. What time is it?"

"What time is it?" Arthur grumbled, and glanced to the side of him. He was still tucked away in bed, shrouded by darkness still. The angry red letters of his alarm clock stung his eyes. "Alfred—It's six fucking o'clock in the morning! What are you even doing up at one in the morning anyway? Shouldn't you have gone to bed—Or were you waiting for my reply?"

Oh. Right.

There was a time difference, and now he'd disturbed Arthur's precious beauty sleep. It was like around him, Alfred could never do anything right. "I'm real sorry." A quiet bit. "I was kind of...Uh..." Staring hopefully at a blank screen- "-playing minecraft. I'll go now."

Hearing the stammering in Alfred's voice, Arthur gave a distinct roll of his eyes and sat up so his back was pushed heavily into his pillows. "No, no. If you called me then there obviously has to be a reason for it. I look forward to discovering it," Arthur said. His voice was deeper than usual, groggy from waking.

Alfred could tell he was still in bed. How much he wished he were there with him. Or maybe not, since Arthur sounded so very annoyed at him for calling, or emailing for that fact. Could it be the man regretted what they had done?

The thought had occurred to Al many times, really. But now it seemed so apparent- he was angry, it was over. A sense of doubt crept over him. "Never mind. I was just... never mind. Go back to sleep, Arthur. I'm sorry."

"No! No, look... Alfred..." Arthur shuffled about in his bed, slinking back down till the sheets surrounded him just like arms swallowing him up whole avertedly, he knew whose he would rather be in. The apathetic tone Alfred was using made him want to just smack it straight out of his throat. "I was just miffed at the time. What is it? I want to know. Please."

Silence on the line, bated breath. Alfred cleared his throat, ran fingers through his golden hair. "I was wondering if you wanted to meet soon. Before the next annual party. And...and...just us. I was wondering. If you wanted or had the time, but if you wanted to… sleep in, it's fine too."

Contrary to Alfred's worries and suspicions, the Englishman on the other side of the ocean found a smile passing over his lips. He clutched the phone closer to his ear, sucking in a slow breath. This was what he had been waiting for, wasn't it? "...Yes." He begun. "Yes, I would love to."

He said yes. Almost after Alfred was going to scream "JK" into the phone from nervousness, but he said yes. A small smile came to his lips. "I'm thinking later today for you. You came here last time, and I thought it'd be alright if I go over?"

"...Here, to England?" Arthur asked for confirmation in disbelief, bolting upright. If he could help it, Alfred never wanted to retreat away to England. The Brit was oddly sure that Alfred thought of it as a lesser place, with that special mind of his. His stomach somehow was beginning to boil with anxiety. Where exactly was he supposed to take Alfred without him getting bored out of his _life_? His attention span was _nil_. "W-Well, I do not think I could say 'no'..."

"You can if you want," Alfred backtracked. He had just tried to think for Arthur too, for once. "I thought it'd be nice if, you know, I found out about your life too. How you are, your best places." Suggestions. That was all. He had never thought of forcing him into a decision.

"...There... There's not really much _here_..." Arthur murmured almost uncharacteristically timidly into the phone. "I mean, we have the Thames. There's Hyde park... the Eye, the Gherkin, erm. Tower bridge, Trafalgar square... See? Places you would not really be interested in."

Alright, so they sounded a bit boring and uncool. But all the same... "No, no, I've never heard of it but I'll bet it's amazing...it... if you show me around and stuff...we could.." The things he did for love. And...

Well, it was love. For those last four months, there was not one day that he hadn't thought of that green eyed angel of his. Amazing. His voice, his touch- his anger even. A warm feeling spread over him.

"Alfred. I am not stupid. I know you far, far too well. You will pretend to be interested for half the day while I go off on one trying to explain to you what is going on, or what the worth of the place is. Then you'll end up so bored that you will fall asleep on the tube back, and I'll get pissy with you, because you just won't _stop it_!" Arthur explained in depth, before pinching the bridge of his nose. It was going to be such an effort.

"Look, it's our first time seeing each other after we..." He trailed off, letting himself remember what it felt like to have Alfred so close to him that it practically burnt - scalded by the heat between them. "...I don't want you to wish you were not here, with me."

And after such an exclamation, Alfred could only agree, nodding, then quickly murmuring consent into the phone. Consideration of equality- x that out!

"I'd always want to be with you." A moment of honesty. "But some places can be kind of boring to me...so where should we go? Would you like to come over?" See his lands, his house, his bed.

"Look, Alfred, um. For the sake of... of going out without either you being bored out of your jolly mind, or _me_ going _insane_ over where in_ heck_ I am taking you..." Arthur started, tracing random figures of eights in the unoccupied space in bed sheets next to him. "Maybe you should just come back here and... and we'll figure something out. We'll probably just stay in."

"That'd be great. Doing anything with you would be fun to me, haha...ha..." His laughter faded a bit once he realized just how lame that sounded. Badly rehearsed movie lines. "I'll be over as soon as I can. Is that okay with you? Should I bring anything?"

"Depends," Arthur responded, running his fingers over the other set of pillows that he never used. "How long are you playing on staying for?"

A thought, and a slightly playful "How long do you think you can stand me?" Of course, he was only free about a week or so, before work would once again eat up his life. But for then...there was nothing else he'd rather do than stay with Arthur.

"...Bring overnight things." Arthur instructed, taking the time to consider what else there is to take along from the other continent to across the sea. "Times a-plenty."

Which meant, basically, that there was a great amount of time for them to use. Alfred doodled and made a checklist of items, thinking all the while. "...should I bring a sleeping bag?" It came out a lot calmer than he'd expected it to, really.

Arthur instinctively let out a laugh, before shaking his head. Remembering that Alfred could not see it, he answered. "No. No, you silly thing." He said. "I'm sure that I will find you... _somewhere_ to sleep."

It could mean that he was fated to a night of living in a locked up storage room, he supposed. But then again, who knew? Maybe he'd be able to get by the Brit's bedside. "Alright then, I'll bring a flashlight, just in case. So, um...would that be all, for now?"

"It would." Arthur responded shortly, rubbing his eyelids. If he did not manage to get back to sleep after this, he was going to personally castrate Alfred with his fingers. Well. Perhaps not. Alfred had a lovely voice when it was deep and he did not want to have that spoilt, no matter how tired and grumpy he was. "Unless you want to bring anything else."

"Oh, I can figure that out myself. Thanks! Uhm. Maybe you should get back to sleep now." He sounded tired. Alfred wondered- what would Arthur look like first thing in the morning? His eyes all droopy and his hair all messed up- adorable. If he was lucky... "Thanks. Sorry for disturbing you. Uhm...love you! Bye." He hung up.

The Brit stared into the crisp air in shock, losing himself as Alfred despondently ended the call with a high note. Arthur shivered, overjoyed in hearing it. The pillock - he did not give him the chance to pant it out in return. Raising the phone to his lips, he gently pecked a kiss onto the receiver - as if he believed it would reach through to the other continent and reassure him. "...Love you too, you idiot..."

* * *

><p>High afternoon in England, and morning for DC. Alfred had raced against the sun- his hair was wildly windblown, the straw-coloured, sun-soaked strands swept and in disarray, Nantucket proudly standing up. His face showed not a bit of how little he slept- rapt with attention and eagerness, impatience almost, a beaming smile gracing his lips, blue eyes alert and bright.<p>

And anxious. He still wasn't sure how well this visit would go, of course- on the way over in the jet, he'd thought it over and over. What he should do, and say- how Arthur would react, and in the end it had disturbed his conscience so much that he gave up on it and was determined to act upon impulse.

And now, with that small, crumpled address in hand, he rode on in that Taxi- man, did he feel stupid. He'd gotten the currency wrong, of course, and then- then- well, he was carrying a suitcase, he was wearing _nice_ clothing for once- a thin, green grey dress shirt, ironed dark pants and _polished_, yes polished black shoes. Dressed to impress, you'd say, and that's just what Alfred wanted to do.

He wanted to impress his Englishman, make him accept, approve, anticipate- it was astonishing, just a year ago this was all a dream, they'd be fighting, this would never happen, and with one angry, furious kiss- which had led to so much more- they had become-

Well. Alfred wasn't sure yet what to call the relationship he shared with Arthur. Special. A very Special Relationship they had, really, almost dysfunctional. They walked a very fragile line, they had known it all this time-

The taxi stopped, and Alfred got out, having paid earlier for such a long drive. Yes, an hour long drive. The Kirkland residence lay in front of him and he half shyly ran a hand through wind-tousled locks, and took his suitcase in hand. Ready. A small rolling of his eyes.

When had Alfred F Jones become _shy_? Nervous? This was hardly him, and it's true. Alfred lost himself around Arthur. Stepping up the staircase, reaching that one door he'd seen in too many dreams, he knocked, cleared his throat, and waited.

The front door was creaked open slowly after a brief wait, extended outwards in welcoming for the American into Arthur's humble abode; or at least it would have been, if Arthur did not lodge himself in the way so stop the other man from passing. He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at Alfred for some, currently unknown reason. "Evening," He greeted.

Was it really evening here? Even twilight? Alfred gave a small, winning smile, tilting his head a bit to the side, and brandished a small, slightly crumpled and wilted pink flower. "Evenin', Artie! I, Uh, brought you a flower." Tell the truth, it used to be a bouquet. But he'd accidentally sat on them at some point…

Arthur peered at the, well. It was a flower. A single, kind of crumpled flower. Alfred was doing just _brilliantly_ today, wasn't he? He sucked in a stern breath and took it from the other's hands, examining it closely. If it were not bent somehow in the middle, he would have been flattered by it. Perhaps that reflected their relationship too well.

"...I have had worse beginnings for dates." He muttered under his breath, tutting as if he was amused by it. At that point, a loud beeping noise sounded from behind Arthur like a siren. The exasperation was clear on his face. "Oh_ fucking_...!" He growled, turning to delve back inside his house.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Alfred took this opportunity to run into the house, carefully deposit his shoes, and mismatched socks, at the door. "Arthur? Are you okay?" It sounded like their first date was about to be ruined. And it also seemed like it was all his fault.

Further investigation into the quaint little house found Alfred at a doorway. He peered in. "Arthur?"

* * *

><p>Turns out, 'into the fire' was a little more accurate that Alfred would have first suspected. Inside Arthur's house, more specifically his kitchen, was a billowing of steamsmoke; certainly enough to set off the fire alarm attached to Arthur's house. At that moment Arthur was somewhere within the smog, no doubt turning off whatever was burning. He grabbed a tea towel and re-appeared, waving it in the air beneath the fire alarm to try stop the deafening thing from beeping.

Aside from the frantic coughing, Alfred had begun laughing. Seeing his skinny little Englishman brandish a towel against the forces of smoke and bad cooking was adorably hilarious. Swirls and smoke and clouds and all sorts of nasty, unhealthy fumes rose into the air, and Alfred quickly flicked on the ceiling fan to dissipate the horrible air. "Oh, Arthur-" Still grinning, all nerves gone. "-were you trying to cook again?"

"D-Don't you _bleeding _start!" Arthur snapped at him, _clearly_ under a lot of stress after he finally managed to get the fire alarm to stop chiming. He groaned loudly and tossed the tea towel inside the smoky nether and quickly stormed past Alfred and into the living room. There, he found one of the cushions - sat - and collapsed himself into it. Why the hell was everything going wrong?

Across from that chair, Alfred had dropped his suitcase and was now striding into the kitchen- wrinkling his nose a bit, mind, that was real nasty- and looking for the sink. Above it, the man quickly reached for the window and flipped it open, letting calming fresh air sweep in and take its stormy neighbor out. And it revealed the burning mass of...thing.

Really, Alfred couldn't tell for his life or love what that was. So he swept back out to his love.

"Arthur?" The smaller man was still in that chair of his.

Arthur had been trying to be sweet, in reality. There had not been just one burnt mess, but two. Since it was so late, he was trying to make them a meal to share so they did not have to go to a restaurant and could therefore stay to themselves. He tried to make it work, he really did, but then Alfred came to the door... collapse, burn, set alight.

As Alfred reached him, Arthur sunk his face further down into his cushion, clinging it to his chest. He gave a small, insignificant noise to acknowledge Alfred's presence.

Said man laid a hand on the Englishman's head. He was smiling. "Hey. Don't be like that...I was only joking. Arthur? Arthur..." Alfred bent til he could look up at Arthur slightly, tilting his head, reaching out.

"I was trying to make it nice for us. I really, really tried." Arthur responded, groaning into the cushion. He squeezed it a little tighter and finally re-surfaced his face, following Alfred's urging. "How come when I try do something for myself, _us_, everything goes _wrong_?"

Oh, so that was it. His sweet little Arthur had tried to cook for them, and that thought alone made Alfred's all American heart soften, and when that helpless looking face came up, with that confession of kindness?

The American laid a hand on the Briton's shoulder. "I think it went perfectly. That was very nice of you, darlin', I appreciate it. Next time, how about we cook something together, huh? I can tell you tried. It's okay, Arthur."

Arthur frowned, but placed a hand over the one resting on his shoulder, squeezing the digits comfortingly underneath. "I... I _can_ cook. Just, not when I get distracted or worried. Like when people come around..." He stumbled in explaining, before giving a hefty sigh.

Warm lips settled against the side of his cheek, lingering before Alfred pulled back. No, for once, he didn't mention that people always came around or that his cooking had always been perfectly dreadful. "Of course you can. I'm sorry to have worried ya." Humouring him.

"You don't believe me." Arthur scowled deeply, threatening to pull away. Something must have snapped in him, however, causing the Brit to curse and toss the cushion on the seat next to him before wrapping his arms around Alfred instead. "Fucking _hell_..."

And Alfred accepted the bundle of stress and emotion into his arms, feeling the comforting warmth at his shoulder, against his heart- perfect. He gently rubbed Arthur's back, turning slightly to nuzzle at his ear, his cheek, his hair. "Relax, Arthur...is this because you didn't sleep enough?"

"No," Arthur responded almost immediately, arching into the other man. He would not confess, but holding Alfred like this was what raised his heart beat the most. The closeness got to him. "I just wanted this to go _well_."

"Sweetheart," A loving murmur at his ear, an adoring light in those sky blues- "It didn't go well, it went perfect. I was all nervous before the whole smoke thing. And now, I just want to _hold_ you."

Alfred was truly enchanted with his little pixie-like love, warm, in his hold.

"Alfred," Arthur breathed, before looking up at his potential significant other face-to-face; losing himself to the tropical ocean blue eyes. After a stunned moment of consideration, he cupped Alfred's cheek in his hand and swooped in, gently capturing opposite lips.

Sparks. It felt amazingly nice having their lips against each other, occasionally tilting to perfect the angle of it. All innocent for now, chaste brushes- Alfred's arms circled around that slender waist, pulled Arthur close to him, it did feel so nice...

A few moments before they had to break apart- simultaneously- for air. And as they gasped it in, Alfred's eyes were just caught.

"May I... make a confession?" Arthur asked quietly as he recovered. His arms swung over his shoulders and closed in around Alfred's neck, keeping them pinned together. A slight, wavering smile met his lips. "I might have missed you. This. ...J-Just a little bit!"

And that was his way of saying, yes- he had longed for all this during the months they'd been apart as well, and though a little surprised (Arthur had started it, for once), Alfred was pleased. "Well. Then I've a confession to make, too." Another, shorter kiss to those bittersweet lips. "I've missed you like hell."

The arms slid down, hands smoothing over Alfred's torso before grabbing hold of the American's jacket tightly. He gave a shaky breath, still a little disturbed by the awful beginning, but gave a half-hearted noise of content. A bigger smile started to break out, and he kissed Alfred again. Since they drunkenly declared their love for each other, Alfred barely left his mind.

And likewise. It had been only hours before Alfred realized he was crazy in love and couldn't get that smile out of his head, those soft touches haunted his skin, and he loved it all. Craved to hear that smooth voice, that English accent. Slowly, Alfred ran the tip of his tongue around the crevice between his love's lips, easing them open slightly and slipping his tongue in, tasting, claiming.

Arthur's hands clenched even tighter, and he leant over to help Alfred with his access; opening his mouth and tilting his head to the side so Alfred could ravish his mouth with that tongue. He craved for this, strived for it. After they slept together, Arthur lost himself to remembering the ghost of what it had been like to have Alfred kiss him like this, be inside him, touching him. Finally the feelings were getting satisfied. Deepening the kiss further, Arthur tried to breathe through his nose to continue airflow; but it was so hard to do when all he wanted to concentrate on was this. Alfred's lips on his.

Under, Alfred's hands slid back, up his ribcage, to his arms, his shoulders, then back down to start pulling at Arthur's shirt, unbuttoning one or two buttons as a question of permission.

Arthur let go and pushed Alfred away, giving him a smouldering look. A look that was not, despite the action, denying. He batted Alfred's hands away and started to unbutton himself in quicker procession, sliding the shirt off of his naked shoulders once he was done. "...You were awful last time with the buttons." Arthur justified.

Which was, to Alfred, permission enough. His eyes drank up all the fair skin, the soft curves, just him, his hands wandered like an explorer. "All the things you could remember, and it's buttons?" A faintly amused smile.

"Strangely enough, poppet, I've remembered everything." Arthur smirked. He remembered how those rough, slightly calloused hands felt on his sensitive skin. Taking hold of them, he guided them up the side of his body till they were holding onto his rib-cage.

The hands glided over pale, tightly stretched skin, and seeing that smaller body all for him to view, to touch, to admire- sparks of lust. "Did you like what you remembered?"

Lips pressed up against the side of Arthur's neck, teasing brushes against the delicate skin, before suckling down at his collarbone, at the base of his throat- then boldly venturing up and leaving a small Mark just below his jawline.

"I did," Arthur panted simply into the air, gasping a few times in glee as Alfred sucked and touched his skin. Every little brush of his lips was escalated in Arthur's mind with hypersensitivity, mostly due to the fact that it was _him._ His romantic.

Arthur took Alfred's chin into his hand and lifted his head so they were looking eye to eye. The Briton stroked one precise line down from just on the jut of his cheekbone all the way till Alfred's shirt, which he hastily started to unbutton. Once the skin underneath was freed, the Englishman ran his palms smoothly over the taut, awaiting expanse. "Mind if I have a little bit of fun before you make love to me?" He requested, licking a very small portion of Alfred's neck.

Alfred gave out a very small shudder, feeling that small, wet muscle against his skin, every touch was electric as long as Arthur gave it. He really was obsessed that that man- "Not at all. I've waited this long- I can wait longer."

"Oh, if it's attention you are looking for, you won't have to wait at all." Arthur responded, pushing the American's jacket and unbuttoned shirt off of him and onto the floor. Smirking, he patted the expanse of the sofa. "Strip, sit your arse down, and spread them, sweetheart."

Alfred hummed lightly in agreement and Unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them down along with his boxers (Why had he purchased new underwear just to visit Arthur's house again?). He gave the smaller man a lazy, at ease half grin before plopping down on that quaint sofa of his. "Sir, yes, sir?"

"Oh, please. Break out the 'sir' chant when I'm in uniform," Arthur said, snuffing a laugh. He climbed his way in-between Alfred's legs - spreading them wider than the American had bothered - and cut straight to the chase. He kissed his balls before kissing the underside of his dick too. "Mm, you know. It looks even bigger and more inviting from down at this angle." He cooed in praise.

A breathless pant escaped said American's lips- and he looked down with a certain admiration and total lust, his glasses slid down to the end of his nose, which he just pulled off and set aside. It turned everything blurry- but he focussed on the vivid green in those devious, beautiful glittering gems- Arthur most certainly looked more vulnerable from this angle as well.

"You know, I don't believe I've ever asked you. I assume those glasses are distance, so you must be short-sighted, yes?" Arthur queried, looking up to Alfred for an answer. He then disturbed the tactless American by engulfing the entire of the head in his hot, sopping wet heat. His tongue whirred around the slit, dipping in and licking the sour tasting but sensitive spot.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, they are, I can't- ohfucking-!" It ended in a long, drawn out groan as he felt the slick, burning heat receive him, and just sat back, eyes half lidded now, hands gripping the upholstery for support. Maybe it was just that he hadn't done anything, exactly, since they'd last met- maybe it was that Arthur was exceptionally talented with that mouth- but it felt amazing. His hips bucked upwards after a while, in attempt to make that hot little mouth take more of him in-

As another inch was forced into Arthur's mouth from Alfred's bucking, the Briton slid off of the length and peered up at his no-longer-impromptu lover. "Patience, love." He commanded. "I don't want to gag with your cock in my throat."

After sliding off, Arthur admired the layer of saliva around that throbbing length. He blew cold air at it, aiming to have Alfred simply collapse into _pieces _with nonchalant ecstasy; an excruciating and yet wonderful feeling. He then returned, giving his shaft a long, _torturous_ lick, stemming from base straight up to the tip - all the while watching as Alfred restrained himself, green eyes lovingly and expertly clouded.

"Uuunh...f-fuck, that's fucking_ amazing_..." The American did hold himself back, but the pleasurable shivers left him aching for more, after all, it was close to impossible luxury for a woman to give a blowjob, and here was Arthur generously giving such amazing care to that aching length of his... The shaft twitched slightly as he met those eyes again, and Alfred moaned, closing his eyes and letting himself get lost in that incredible warmth and pleasure.

Arthur's hand closed around what he did not slot in his mouth once he plunged two or three inches in until it reached his throat. The fingers pumped slowly and caressed the skin there with slight, circular massages. Then Arthur moaned, sending vibrations through his mouth and straight to that hot rod pulsating in his mouth. He moaned as if having a cock push down on his tongue for access was the most enjoyable sensation in the word, flitting said tongue roughly over the underside after.

Little bursts of pre-cum erupted from the tip, white hot and slightly bitter- and Alfred about lost in, murmuring Arthur's beloved name over and over, a small chant, oh, those vibrations were _so _enjoyable; the American savoured that, feeling his love's talented fingers, the movements. "Arthur, oh God, stop...I'm gonna...Arthur..."

The taste of pre-cum was, admittedly, disgusting. But Arthur had grown accustomed to it now from his previous lovers. He would have sunk all the way down to the base till his nose was touching hair and let Alfred fuck his mouth for a while, but clearly he had underestimated how long it would take for the American to reach near to his climax. At the words, Arthur pumped the slickened length even faster and drew out to the tip. He gave it a hard suck, begging for his essence, and pulled off with a sticky pop and a gasp for air.

White drops splattered onto his skin. Alfred called out his name- ecstasy plain in his voice, having enjoyed himself much too much with Arthur's little bit of 'fun.' It really had been way too long. They really did have to see each other more often, or else Alfred's now raging hormones would start a revolution.

The blue eyes came down to normal after a while, and Alfred seized Arthur, pulling him up for a kiss.

The explosion from Alfred's cock splattered both inside Arthur's open mouth and out, spots on his chin, upper lip and cheek. He licked his lips and then swallowed, before using the back of his hand to wipe off the evidence.

Arthur's mouth had been cleared by now, though still tasted vaguely like a mix between his natural, salty sea, oak leaves and tea blend, and Alfred's own cum. He did not dawdle for long, pushing himself off and starting to shimmy off the trousers they had neglected to remove. They were beginning to get too tight to handle. "Give me a hand?"

One hand, two, whatever it was- Alfred leaned in and swiftly pulled down the pants, revealing the smooth, long legs Alfred had dreamed of and also a straining problem of Arthur's own. The American could sense the contained need, and dragged his knuckles over it before sliding the Briton's underwear down as well. "Did I do that?" Amusement.

"You also made yourself cum all over my face," Arthur pointed out with difficulty after his hardness was grazed, propping himself up with bent elbows. "I would not be surprised that you are able to make another man stand on end, if I were you."

"Oh, I don't doubt it." An irritating smirk, as Alfred pulled his flexible love into his lap, licking at his ear. "It's just that it's you." Let him take that how he wanted.

"And you, clearly, are even more to me than you think." Arthur told him, swooping in to claim those lips in a short but deep romantic kiss. When he pulled away, their lips were still slightly touching - breathing warming each other's skin. "I have lube in my bedroom drawer. Want to retire up there?"

Alfred had already been fully captured by those first words. At this point, he would have easily jumped off a building in adoration for the man. "Yeah," he breathed, and carefully stood so Arthur wouldn't fall to the ground. Arthur's bedroom- wasn't that the place of his dreams?

Taking Alfred's hand, Arthur begun to guide the American up and away towards his bedroom. They barely took their eyes off of each other as they scaled the stairs, almost colliding with intent and losing themselves right there - or at the very least, Arthur was feeling the force of his built arousal.

Once in his bedroom, Arthur pushed Alfred forwards into it and shut the door behind him. In contrast to the American's room, the Englishman's was not filled with the same atmosphere of pride. Rather, Arthur's room maintained a flawless grandeur that suited his character perfectly. The sheets were greenish gold, made of silk and featured embroidery of flowers and leaves, garnished atop his wide King-sized bed. The walls were decorated with the flags of his kingdom, as well as artistic trinkets from the nations he had conquered. It was not subtle, but it suited.

"You'll find the lube in the bottom drawer," He mentioned, pressing himself up against his door.

Alfred's hands slid down the milky shoulders, a few rare freckles dusting the fair skin. "Fun." His breath ghosted against his cheek before he backed away, set his gaze to the nightstand, opening the dark furniture, searching for the telltale tube of lubricant. He waved it back at Arthur.

Smiling, Arthur eyed the lube and then back to Alfred. It was newly brought, the American would probably notice. Brought today especially for the occasion of Alfred's visit - just in case they consummated again their allegiance to one another. He pressed further back against his door, rattling the frame a bit with a satisfying rumble. "Aren't you coming to get me?" He teased, stretching his arms up and elongating his slim form.

A shiver of need, as Alfred tossed the lubricant to the bed and rushed forward, seizing those curved hips in his hands, his soft lips with his own. Unconsciously, through the kiss, they managed to make it to the bed.

Blue eyes looked down, love, lust, utter obsession, as the American pressed his boyfriend as of now down to the bed. All hesitation or doubts were lost, pure, unadulterated feeling and emotion coursed together through their veins as if electrified; Alfred's eyes scorched with heat as he took in that long, pale form, every inch precious and perfect-

"Alfred," A single, wispy but delightful voice broke his thoughts and murmured through the air, making Arthur realise that this was exactly what he was looking for. He would handle the upsets and the arguments later. For now, he allowed Alfred to be his _everything_. He made sure Alfred was watching before slowly extending his legs apart, spreading them to accommodate his boyfriend.

"Come make love to me, already." He badgered, though not too insistently. More silently pleading, needing, happy to be _his_. Vice versa, as well, of course.

"I _am_ making love to you." Alfred's eyes were all over him, and he let his hands follow, slowly, like they did in Hollywood romances. Except that was was real, this was naturally easy and enjoyable, he eased his lips down the White expanse of his delicate throat, lapping at the edge of his collarbone, admiring and adoring. "We're gonna take it slow."

"In other words, you are aiming to make _me_ explode," Arthur complained, though still sighed shakily while Alfred's tongue pressed onto his most enjoyable, most sensitive spots. He let out a soft mumble in appreciation. "Such foreplay, Alfred... We're already hard, in case you have not noticed."

His American looked up at him. "I've noticed," came the dry remark, as the larger man kept abusing those spots, drawing them out full value and worshipping at the silky skin with his mouth, his fingertips. "But I enjoy making you explode." All the same, he reached for the lubricant, and gave Arthur a grin as he popped the cap open and squished some onto his fingers.

"I-If you are trying to make me orgasm before you put it in me...!" - at this rate, it would probably work. Arthur could not suppress his moans, even if he cupped his mouth to muffle the noise. Similarly he could not hold still, ankles bending as he pushed them in the air in glee while his collar was thoroughly ravished. He was so achingly hard by now, but Alfred was right. He did not want to rush Alfred making love to him. He closed his eyes, relaxed, and tried to think of less arousing things.

Not that Alfred wasn't hard himself. He just could not beat out the desires of making his boyfriend feel good, making him explode with love and all the pleasure he'll have ever felt. The American brought two slick fingers down, down, down, then, brushing against the closed, tightened entrance. "There, there."

"A-Alfred, _please_! You know I'm not a patient man!" Arthur cried out to him, squeezing his lids shut tightly and pressed his hips towards the marginally offending fingers. Did Alfred realise how good it felt to have friction and pressure applied there, to him? He hated that he wanted to beg.

But it seemed that Alfred loved it. Those fingers traced the opening, barely open at all, really, delicately- then, a fingertip slid in, just a bit, twisting, loosening up and applying delectable pressure to the sensitive sphincter muscles, easing the digit inside. "I know," the American cooed, pressing a kiss to the Englishman's knee.

"Yet you still try to take me slowly and deliberately like this," Arthur panted, spreading his legs even wider for his boyfriend. The probing digit made him stiffen, feeling the moist lubricant guide it inside. The concoction was colder than he expected, giving the Englishman shivers.

"I'm sorry, babe." The finger was pressed inside, slowly, and swallowed all the way in. Alfred felt the satisfaction of that build to the heat in his gut that just repeatedly sent hormones into his brain begging for pleasure and release. "I love seeing you break down, too." Maybe it was wrong of him, but he_ loved_ to see that slender body trembling, hear the desperate calls-

A second finger pressed up, and slowly went in the tight heat. Alfred hummed in appreciation.

Arthur's lips cracked accidentally into an appreciative smile when he was not concentrating; losing himself to the enjoyable but aching stretching feeling. At least Alfred was not going slowly, but it was still not fast enough for him. Even so, they were currently connected, and that knowledge felt brilliant. "...A-Al... A little more, a little more..."

And the fingers both drove in, then spread him open, scissoring wide and stretching that muscle, swiftly pushing in the third. Alfred stroked up inside of him, pushing against the walls, twisting inside and watching the frenzied expressions rapidly going across his lover's face. He licked his lips in anticipation, hardly able to stand it himself.

Fingertips clenched on the golden sheets, crumpling the silk. The twisting was equivalent to an automatic cue for Arthur to curl his legs around Alfred's hips. Underneath him, Arthur gazed up at his lover - barely able to keep his eyes open to watch him when the movement in his tight, swallowing muscles felt so good and so tightly squished in. He loved how taking Alfred's cock was such a struggle - he remembered each detail about it, especially the texture as it slid in the first time.

It hadn't been an easy task, and along with the burning pleasure- there wad an under-edge of pain. Because Alfred was big, naturally, and was naturally well endowed, and Arthur had a small frame, slender, and it made the difference. Alfred's fingers squelched out.

The larger man hissed as the lube made contact with his straining cock- tip bursting with pre-cum, already dark and flushed with blood as he slicked the lubricant around himself, and positioned himself carefully over his love, carefully as he could be with anything. This would be proper. Their first time to truly make love, and his eyes met Arthur's.

Seeing Alfred's eyes linger on him, Arthur cracked a smile for his sake, trying to reassure. They may have only had sex once before, but this was everything; right here, right now. He felt like how he did on his first ever time - slightly nervous, but strangely ready. Arthur cupped Alfred's cheek and placed a firm kiss on the above lips, before giving nothing more but a casual nod to display his consent.

Alfred slid in. It was a slow process- because the muscles immediately clamped down, and just tried to close back up. Inch by inch, slowly, Alfred made them whole again, a small noise of appreciation leaving his throat, watching his lover's expressions as he took him in for the second time.

"A...aah..." Arthur panted underneath him, struggling not to tense and make it harder for them as Alfred started inching his way inside. It both injured and fascinated him that their bodies only just fit together, though he knew he'd adjust to the American over time. They always found a way to tolerate each other, even now. The pain was as large as Alfred was, but he opened himself up in readiness for it. Once Alfred had managed to slide all the way into him, Arthur gave a breath of relief and tightened his grip at Alfred's hips.

The heat was nice. Shockwaves, shivers- all in good will, and Alfred dipped down to give his Arthur a small, rewarding kiss of encouragement, staying still and savouring the warmth inside until he felt Arthur contract just slightly- then loosen, just enough to move.

"Alfred, I can handle it," Arthur breathed, half-whisper and half-speech. He took both of his cheeks into his hands to pull him into one last, chaste, loving kiss to prove that he was dealing well as he could. The green eyes searching for expression and life above him were longing, and _happy_ - an emotion that did not often reach the Brit. "I can handle you. Just... mm-m-move, please."

Alfred moved- sliding out until just the tip was still inside, then pushing back in entirely, breathing growing heavy in the small space between them. Little by little, the movements sped- the friction building and rubbing and taking over as the American crammed in and his lover took it with all the Determination and grace in the world. "You're fuckin' beautiful-" came the murmur, reverent, in bliss.

"No," Arthur said at the end of an inhaling breath, rocking his hips to accept Alfred's progressively faster and harder thrusts. Their bodies clashed together and pushed apart consecutively, slick but vulgar noises letting out between them from the incessant clap of lubricant. "No, I'm not. A-aah, love...!"

"You are-" A thrust deep inside, small breath of exhilaration. "You're the most precious- best-" Alfred had never been good with words, and in this case, words failed him. Maybe it was ironic: but to him, being with Arthur was like being liberated, making love to him was like that first breath of fresh, free air. He'd never dreamed in his short two centuries that so many emotions were possible, much less experience-able. "You're everything; you're mine..."

"Y-You say this... but what c-could you possibly love about me?" Arthur questioned before groaning in ecstasy at a particularly deep thrust, muscles clenching tightly around the cock embedded deep inside of him. The lubrication was certainly making their movements smoother than the last time they had sex. "...T-There's... n-nothing to like."

That self esteem of his. Feeling the pressure, the heat- Alfred let out a low moan, eyes fixed on that euphoric expression on Arthur's face as he was rammed into the bed. "Do you...you know how obsessed with you I am...? Mnnm...I love your every damn _flaw_, Arthur..." Breathless laughter, a hard thrust inside.

"Sounds like you a-are more foolish than... hah... than I thought. But I—_Ah_!" Whatever Arthur was about to say died in his throat and came out as a struggling whine after that thrust. Alfred had aimed well, ramming straight into his prostate at a very agreeable angle. Gurgling with pleasure, Arthur's back simply arched up into him, proudly eliciting his joy. "O-Oh! Yes, Alfred, _yes_! There, darling. Just right _there_...!"

Those noises were encouragement enough for his boyfriend to shift, keeping that angle, and pound directly into him. Alfred _loved_ hearing his moans of want, loved it when he couldn't even speak properly with pleasure. "That's good, sweetheart...keep...keep it up.."

Arthur rode Alfred's movements, slowly getting driven closer and closer to a possible climax as the American cock slid in and out of him hotly; stretching his muscles and making him feel internally amazing. The stars in his eyes were nothing in comparison to Alfred's cerulean blues, so he tried to concentrate on those as the pleasure filled his vision, making him feel inadequately weak at the knees. "Alfred, just a little more. Give me more, darling, _more_. I-I'm almost..."

And the American pressed up against that spot he'd memorised and so loved to abuse, staying there before giving a last powerful thrust that shook the bed, sent shivers through his core.

The Englishman cried as he came, panting in forced huffs in desperation for air as white filled his vision - as well as splashing across their chests. His legs tightened significantly around Alfred's waist as he rode out his orgasm, shivering and shuddering as he succumbed to the pleasure Alfred gave him in their love-making session. Once finished he loosened, collapsing against his sheets.

A few more erratic, furious thrusts before hot liquid spilled into- and out of- the Englishman. The American groaned out his name, senses wild, satisfied beyond belief with how good they made each other feel, and he quickly rolled off before he accidentally suffocated his boyfriend. Heavy pants and catching of breath filled the air, and Al turned to look at the slender form. "How...was it?" A grin.

Arthur gasped as Alfred slipped his cock out of his body and rolled over, before doing so himself, so that he was draped across his lover with his head resting on the American's shoulder. He smiled, basking in the post-coital glory and rekindling the memory. "Bleedin' brilliant..." He admitted, unable to lie. "My hands are still trembling."

A chuckle came from the American. "I love it when you're like that. I love_ you_." His ego was on full and he was bold with his declarations now, not afraid. an intense moment before Alfred melted a bit at his lover enclosed in his arms. "You're so damned hot. I love you to death."

"You might regret saying something like that," Arthur chuckled huskily. He squirmed till he was lying next to Alfred properly, trying not to wince from the ache in his hips. It was too late to save his silk sheets, that were ruined now by their combined cum staining their chests and his thighs as well. "But I love you too, Alfred."

Alfred in turn pressed his lips to his lover's sweat-stained locks, his forehead, then leaning down to his lips, blissfully aware of every feeling, every sense. "I won't regret it. Even if we...break apart. I'll always think this was a good memory. This is nice." The post-sex cuddling was one of his own guilty weaknesses.

"Fuck that, Alfred. We won't break apart. I won't let you," Arthur murmured to him, kissing again, too used to the American's lips that he was almost addicted. He shuffled about till he pulled the duvet from out underneath them to flop casually on top, swallowing them in warmth and comfort. "I'll make this an every-day occurrence."

"Then you're right, I definitely can't stay away," came the amused whisper of the American, whose arm was currently around him, pulling him near til they lay flush against one another. "You should be worrying about how you're going to get me to go away."

"I'll worry about that when I go absolutely batty with insanity," Arthur purred, wrapping his arms around his lover and telling his eyes seal shut. Breathing soon became more subdued, quieter.

All the while, Alfred watched him and took in the calm rise and fall of the slim form in his arms- he'd say fragile, but no. Arthur was strong. Admirable, really, they way he could take pain head on made Alfred want to internally swoon. He really was obsessed.

Arthur was warm as he slept. The American tightened his hold, soon, tiredness taking over. The clock read nine o' clock over head as his eyes too closed, and outside, it began to rain.

_Coalescence_.

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><p><strong>StarSpangledSilence says: 'Sappy!Dialogue is Sappy'.<strong>

**If it keeps going like this, we might have them having sex in every single chapter…**

**Anyway; I hope you like the smut. Rather than first time, it was first time as a couple. With making love being the intention rather than a quick anal fuck.**

**Once again, I will dominate the world with my bottom!UK. Still can't stand him otherwise. **

**Hope you guys enjoyed this!**

…**Also, I bet my friend that if Jedward or Blue win Eurovision, she gets me a bag of haribo. I think I will be sorely disappointed. If not… I LIKE TANGTASTICS, DEARIE.**


	3. Cats, Ravens, Crotches

**Apologies for a late chapter~! Both of us have been rather busy recently…;;**

**Lots of headcanon in this chapter, I'm afraid.**

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><p><span>Chapter Three: Cats, Ravens, Crotches<span>

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><p>Flits and flickers of sunlight streamed into the seeps of the curtains, the radiance gradually sliding up, up, up until they settled on the giant lump amid the bed. The chartreuse sheets gleamed, rustled rustically from the way the lump was slowly, soothingly heaving up and down. A few random limbs stuck out from under the covers: an arm, part of a leg. Two blonde figured nestled together, foreheads pressed against each other's, close together.<p>

After a long, long, pleasure filled night, in which both nations showed the other just how much he was missed - exhaustion, and deep sleep. They hadn't meant that to happen - it was merely for a break, when they both slipped under the covers, sweat soaking and slicking skin and sheets, when they both promptly fell asleep and had unconsciously cuddled together. This was their current predicament.

Peaceful. The battering of rain had ceased, it was wonderfully calm and comfortable.

Then a clatter. A faint scratching like noise. And like that, a cerulean eye cracked open, finding himself centimetres away from his British love. A faint, peaceful smile was on those perfect lips, that Alfred dipped to plant an air light kiss on, and the American did his best not to move as he inched his way out of bed. Arthur's bed.

What he wouldn't have given, a year ago, to be here now. A broad grin lit up Alfred's face as he grabbed boxers, slipping them on along with a t-shirt he'd quietly unpacked, when the tinkling noise and quiet scratching happened again.

The American stopped and looked back at Arthur - serene and seemingly not bothered by this noise. Scratching. The American opened the door, and stepped outside, looking around just so cautiously. "Hello - AAAaaaaarrrghhh!"

The furry ball fell off his face, hopped of his shoulder, and slipped into Arthur's room.

For the first time since yesterday evening, Arthur's body went without Alfred's body plush next to his. Even in his sleep, he noticed the change - darkened eyebrows furrowing in recognition and in need, and fingertips flexing for the man that had departed from him. His hands soon found the warm of him in the sheets of the spot next to him, and he subconsciously rolled over to that side; seeking out the smell of _him_. Though that, as a task, was not hard. Alfred's presence was smothered all over him - a result of love-making through the entire night.

Alfred's shout was not what woke him up. It was a cold feel on the tip of his nose that finally got Arthur's eyes moving behind his lids and body tensing in reaction. At first he shook his head away from the strange touch, with a insignificant 'nn' passing his lips despondingly. Then, when a sudden weight toppled onto his chest, Arthur's eyes flew wide open and snapped up to a sitting stance; object on his torso slipping down to his lap.

"What was—_Oh_!" Instantly, his shocked face turned to one of adoration. "_There_ you are!"

Upon his lap was, without a doubt, a medium sized cat - a Scottish fold of breed with a mainly white coat but with small, ginger additions. Due to the breed, its ears flopped cutely and apathetically down. Arthur reached to stroke them, smile absolutely _dominating_ his face as the cat sat proudly and winningly, kneading the duvet underneath its paws. "You sweet little thing! I was wondering where you were—Did you go hunting? Did you? I hope you didn't leave me another present downstairs... Do you know how hard it is to get a grasshopper out of your house?"

Arthur was _cooing_ at it, the little monster! Alfred stared, and stared, and then just pouted. Had his loving boyfriend ever even used that special tone of voice on _him _before, that sweet little tone he was using to the - was that a cat?

The fur ball - it just crept there and stretched and purred and practically _claimed_ Arthur's lap as its territory, the monster did! And his poor Arthur didn't realize it, still captivated by its deceivingly sweet furry face, he talked to the thing like it was human. Alfred strode up, intent on grabbing the thing by the scruff of its neck and tossing it where it belonged: out of Arthur's lap, Arthur's bed, and everything else that was American territory.

"I'll get it, Arthur, no worries!"

Arthur looked up at Alfred as if he finally remembered that Alfred was there, eyes blinking as if he was pleasantly surprised. The smile remained, stretching that little bit further, and Arthur cocked his head marginally to the side as if trying to discern what the American meant. "Get what?" He wondered aloud.

A sharp, attention-seeking miaow sounded and Arthur's focus turned straight back onto his cat. It stretched its paws up, elongating its body and patting around the Briton's collar like it was hugging him, and Arthur wrapped his arms around the pussy cat in consequence. Stroking the fur till it was turning sleek in his hands, Arthur muttered more silly and nonsensical drivel to the thing. "—Do you want some fish? Do you? Do you, you little devil, you?" He chirruped before glancing up at his boyfriend again. "Alfred! This is Henry—He's my little baby. Aren't you, Hen? Aren't you?"

It had leapt to the safety and warmth of Arthur's arms (more of what was _Alfred's_, mind), and was now trying to seduce his boyfriend away. Henry, as it was apparently called, purred and nuzzled and did all sorts of stupid cuddly cat techniques. And Arthur was eating it all up. "Arthur..." The American perched at the edge of the bed, pouting again. "That thing scratched me." Pitifully. "And it woke me up. And now, how am I supposed to kiss you when it's in the way?"

_Jealous of Kitty - Achievement Unlocked._

Arthur ruffled the fluff under Henry's neck as he looked over at his boyfriend, smile wiping off of his face. Alfred was right - he could see a scratch on his cheek. What on Earth was Henry doing getting so close to Alfred's face? "You must have angered him, then?" Arthur suggested. "He's lovely to me but he's a right tom cat to anyone else. France came once and he scratched the living daylights out of him - I must have fed him fresh fish for the whole week afterwards. Come on, love. He just needs to get accustomed to you."

A pout, but for Arthur, Alfred bravely extended a finger to the kitty, blue eyes still grazing over Henry with an air of offended mistrust. He sized it up. Fluffy tail, floppy ears - very sly - lazy green eyes, and... "Arthur? Did you say, uh, his name was Henry?"

"Yes, indeed I did!" Arthur called happily, shifting Henry off of his lap so that the cat was laying next to Alfred, tummy facing skywards in the air. He slinked out of the bed and moved to his cupboard in the search for some clothes; still naked after the night before, residues of then remaining on his slim thighs. He scrutinised a shirt inside, rubbing the fabric. "I'd tell you his full name, but you will make fun of me."

"I was about to make fun of you anyhow, so you might as well tell me..." The American stared at Henry - as it has been called, stared at its snowy white chest, milky stomach, its... his... her... oh dear. "Arthur, darling, erm..." All hard feelings at the kitty vanished, replaced with some pity.

The cat rolled over a few times, smothering Arthur's side of the bed with cat hair - as if possessively claiming the area back from the scent of Alfred. With Henry's stomach in the air, it was absolutely clear that there were a number of nipples going down each side. The cat, without a shadow of a doubt, was female. And for some reason, Arthur had not noticed, automatically assuming its gender.

"Sir Henry Randolph Miaowingtons..." Arthur muttered unhappily under his breath. Personally, he thought it was really cute. But when he told it to Francis last, the Frenchman had laughed so hard that he almost suffocated the bastard. What a shame he didn't. At the call, Arthur turned to face his lover, beginning to shove one of his punk band t-shirts over himself. "What is it, Alfred?"

But Alfred wasn't there. He'd fallen off the bed, laughing his heart out. And he'd thought Henry was a stupid name...oh, Arthur really was cute, adorable, the American rolled and tried to hide it, but Lord... "S-sorry! Sorry, it just...ahaha, Miaowingtons!" After a few gasps of air, he struggled up, look one look at the cat, and went under again.

"S-Shut up!" Arthur snapped at him, and threw the coat hanger that he nicked his t-shirt from over till it clonked Alfred on the head. How dare he laugh at him? It was an adorable name! It suited his little kitty cat down to the ground, and who was everyone else to judge? Fine! He was a cat person, and where was the shame in that? Tons of cat owners called their kittens silly things! Huffing, the Briton returned to get dressed fully. When the cat miaowed, he nodded. "Yes, well! I love your name too, Hen."

The cat purred and nudged its master's hand fondly, as Alfred rose from the ground, clutching his head. "Ooow, I said I was sorry, baby, why so harsh this morning?" Jealous feelings returned, his adorable boyfriend parading around, he hadn't even gotten his good morning kiss yet! "Arthur? Your cat is clearly a girl - Arthur?"

"Nonsense! Henry is not a girl, Alfred. I had him spayed. That's for boy cats, you idiot." Arthur scowled at him, after putting underwear on and hopping into a pair of skin-tight black jeans to complete his look. No. No, it wasn't. It was so easy to get the two operations mixed up for the genders, yet Arthur was so sure of himself. As he fixed himself up, he turned to Alfred and spanned his arms. "Well? Am I not going to get a good morning greeting?" It was like he read Alfred's mind at that moment, though easily turned the blame onto the other instead.

"T-that's terrible! And that's not for boy—" Distraction number one. Had Alfred ever told his boyfriend just how much he loved that punk look of his? His hair was still mussed, he looked annoyed, those _legs _- Said American flew over and swept Arthur into his arms, pushing their lips together. "Mmph...you are, you are…" he assured, through the clashing of lips. His hands slipped down.

Finally, the now seemingly grumpy cat - of which was watching them intently now, like it was disapproving of the touches - became ignored, as Arthur lost all of his thoughts about the animal in favour of appreciating his lover instead. The Englishman wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck and accepted his kiss, pushing back with the same degree of intensity. He moaned at the contact, arching into Alfred's hands. Their fire still very much alight. "Like me in skinnys, do you?" Arthur mused, chuckling. "I should have known you're into the Brit punk look. British invasion, indeed."

"It's fucking sexy as Hell," Alfred informed, running his hands up those slim, denim covered thighs and to those hips, pulling him in. "You should dress like this more often, damn it." Another sloppy, wet kiss, easing his head back, tasting and probing through his mouth. Satisfied noises from both before pulling away, Alfred's blue eyes on fire. He stepped off quickly. "Before it's pointless for you to have put that on in the first place, how about breakfast? I'll cook something."

"Alfred F. Jones's amazing cooking skills, wow, how honoured I would be." Arthur muttered sarcastically, before shaking his head and smiling encouragingly. Alfred was not a bad cook, in honesty. He had tasted it before - it was the problem of him eating too much fatty foods that the Englishman tended to discourage.

* * *

><p>Arthur took Alfred's hand boldly and started to lead the both of them away from his bedroom, down the stairs and towards the kitchen. Once there, he glared at the cupboards as if they had wronged him. "Now... I think I bought some bacon and eggs, those'll be in the fridge. I've got cereals if you want them? Only frosties and cheerios, I'm afraid. Nothing extravagant like your 'Captain Crunch' or 'Count Chocula' or whatever. I got some juice in case you're the 'ooh, let's have freshly squeezed OJ with my brekkie!' type."<p>

"I have the most perfect boyfriend in the world." How adorable was that little speech? Alfred shook his head in amusement and detached them, going to the fridge and tossing out some basic ingredients, mushrooms, cheese, eggs, bacon - the like. He searched for a pan - yes, there was one hanging by the fridge, he saw, and took it up, stifling a smile at the chipped blackness at the bottom. Yes, Arthur had tried to cook for them yesterday, he recalled. Clearing the remnants of that battle, he set it on the stove and flicked on the fire. "Hope you're okay with omelettes. And...oh. If you want to help," he added, seeing his boyfriend hopefully look at the sizzling. "You can pour the OJ."

Arthur grumbled gruffly, going to the fridge to retrieve the carton of orange juice. Personally, he was more of an apple juice type - but whatever floated Alfred's boat. He got him out a glass and started pouring. Then, classically, a distraction hit him. Arthur did not realise that he was staring at Alfred's lean body as the man messed around with preparing the ingredients until a strange wetness hit his foot. Looking over, Arthur yelped and straightened the carton. He looked horrified as he gazed at the mess he had made, orange juice having poured over the top of the glass and spilled all over his kitchen surface. "Oh, for the Gods—!" Arthur threw his hands in the air and quickly warbled around, searching for the absorbent kitchen roll.

The shout made Alfred look up from his sizzling bacon bits and mushroom omelette, and he grinned again. Maybe Arthur was feminine, but he did _not_ belong in the kitchen. At all. Setting the spatula down for a bit, the American located the roll and tossed it over. "Tough luck, Artie! Maybe...you can help by, um, setting the table instead." A small smile, eyes warm, as he turned back and flipped the two perfectly made omelettes.

Arthur stared jealously at Alfred as he made the omelette with ease, narrowing his eyes at the actions he was taking. He hoped he knew how infuriating that was to watch, while he was dabbing the kitchen side dry of orange juice. It was only because of distractions, Arthur vowed to himself. Just distractions. "Christ, I feel like I'm being made love to by Gordon Ramsey..." He mumbled. With less wrinkles, obviously.

"Whose name did you put instead of mine, now, baby?" Alfred flipped the omelettes, golden yellow and steaming, onto two plates neatly. He looked in the fridge - aha. Strawberries. Fun to play with and eat. He took the red fruit and placed two on each plate in the shape of a heart and served, grinning, saving the rest of the strawberries for later. "Alright, breakfast time!" A cheerful laugh, he grabbed the glasses of orange juice, set them on the table.

"Hey, what about the cat?"

After finishing with the table and sitting down, Arthur licked is lips as he looked at what Alfred had cooked for him. Heavens, it looked wonderful. Francis used to cook for him back in the day, but he would never object to Alfred having a go too. Carefully picking up a strawberry between two fingers, Arthur kissed the tip of it and bit in, moaning in satisfaction. He loved the fruit so much... "Mm, _what_ about the cat?"

Oh, fuck, what was he saying again? A cat or something? Watching Arthur eat seemed like a much better hobby, Alfred decided, and he slid into his seat, felt around for his fork and tried to eat without moving his gaze. "I...never mind." Distracting...

"If you still want to go out today, I'll be all for it. I could show you a few places that are important to me, if you wanted?" Arthur asked of him, watching intently while his teeth and tongue went back to work to suck and chew on the strawberry. Swallowing, he wiped the juice away with the back of his wrist. Heck, he had not exactly laid out napkins for just breakfast - and he was not going to let it dribble down his chin now, was he?

Alfred grabbed that wrist and brought it to his mouth, lapping the juice off of the fair skin, captivated. He let go, grinning. "Mm, sure. As long as it's not some old boring place full of angry people yelling "_Yank_!_ Yank_!" at me again." Alfred turned back to his breakfast, popped some of the omelette into his mouth, and chewed.

"_Again_?" Arthur asked, laughing at the sheer idea of it. Alfred was such a cute little puppy of a man when he wanted to be. He reached over the table, stroking his lover's cheek as he chewed, watching him adoringly. "No, don't worry. I'll take you to places you'll like. I promise you. We'll skip the eye, since it's not worth riding. You'll get bored seeing the crown jewels and the library too, so... I guess I might take you to see the tower? I'd let you see Big Ben, but you've seen it before, and I still remember your remarks..."

A snicker, rather, at the last comment. "You know, Big Ben ain't so big compared to the empire state, or even - ah, I'll shut up, I'll shut up!" He turned his head just so, flicking his tongue out suggestively between his lover's fingers before laughing, and taking another bite. "Sure. I'd go anywhere with you."

"I-It doesn't matter if I'm smaller than you! Big Ben has nothing to do with it, and I'm not exactly small anyway! I swear!" Arthur groaned out defensively, pulling his hand away in reaction to it being effectively licked. He begrudgingly started to stab his omelette, continuing eating and shunning the American for a few moments as a result. Finally he placed his fork down. "It doesn't matter when it's _your_ cock that _I'm_ riding on anyway, and I like it that way around."

"...Can I get that in writing?" Alfred finished off his omelette, leaning over and kissing his love on the cheek. "I was kidding. You're pretty big too," he soothed, rather Humoring his tough little love. "I like it that way too. I hope it stays that way, huh?" The man leaned over the back of Arthur's chair now, drawing little circles down his spine.

"I don't have any intention of changing it, unless you do? It's just something that I'm uncomfortable with, if you can understand." Arthur told him, laying a hand over his own.

He had topped before in his past, but... no. He could not do that again. He used to be a pirate, of sorts. The linked raping and pillaging was something that he, as a reformed, loving and sensitive man, wanted to keep buried. He would never do it again, so he willingly surrendered himself to anyone as their submissive partner. He did not want to remember. It gave him much more sanctity and pleasure that way. Those days were over, and, contrary to popular opinion - he was _glad_.

"Oh, I can promise you: I don't mind at all," Alfred assured. He'd been thrilled to learn that Arthur preferred a dominant partner, and he was more than thrilled to be the one to fill that request. "We can keep it this way. Doubt we'll get tired of it, really..." The American yawned, standing up, downing some orange juice. "Hey, you know that sex burns more calories than my usual workouts?"

"Does this mean that I'm going to make you even fitter?" Arthur asked, peering at him curiously. A hand extended and dragged down Alfred's perfected muscles, flexing over the washboard of hardness underneath his skin. Arthur took one last bite of omelette before straightening up and moving to stand next to his man, tilting his neck - annoyingly - to look at him in the eyes. Though he was not shorter by much, one or two inches meant a lot.

"Would you like that?" A prideful gleam in those blue eyes as Alfred looked down into Amazonian pools of crisp, clear green. His own hands went around Arthur's slender waist, rubbing the edges of skin that showed under his t-shirt. "I love your body the way it is." Slender, flexible, lean - with that beautifully pale skin. "You're a beautiful country."

"You, contrarily, are an idiot. But I would not want to have you any other way." Arthur smiled, kissing the American's chin in adoration. There was so much about Alfred that he loved, as a country as well as a man. On the surface, he was variant and beautiful with an environment that was stunning – never mind the people and his thoughts, and the way that he butchered his language and made stupid sounding cereals; his land, his looks, everything was gorgeous. Why would he want the golden haired body any other way?

They were a godly pair, weren't they? Perfect. For each other, at least. Made for each other, found for each other, undefeatable if together and ever so vulnerable apart. Alfred pressed his lips to his boyfriend's forehead. "You're sweet. But so, so gay. You know that?"

"I know for a fact that that is not an objection," Arthur purred, licking a small line under the American's Adam's apple, gnawing slightly on the protruding nub.

Distraction. Whatever the American was going to say next vanished, and he gazed at his boyfriend through slightly hazed eyes, shivering at the touch. "Arthur...you'd better stop that..."

Arthur pulled away slyly, giving Alfred a certain indistinguishable look. He glanced his boyfriend over, before a witty smile pulled over his expression. "Aah, that's right. You don't want to have a hard-on while we're out now, do you?" He said in a low, sexily mumbling tone. "Very well, I won't help you. Go get yourself ready, love. I'll show you a good time." Precisely chosen words.

A slight raise of the eyebrows to Arthur, showing that he'd better not do anything bad, before Alfred padded back to the bedroom and changed, faded jeans with natural tears, Green Day T-shirt, and a very worn pair of Vans. It was there that he leaned against the wall thinking about things like dead rats, taxes, communism, Russians, poverty, and more Russians, as he calmed himself down and cleared his mind of England for that minute.

After hearing Alfred finish, Arthur approached his lover; a smirk appearing on his face at how odd it was that they were seeming to match. Punk and a downplayed rocker, by the look of it. It was sweet, really. Neither of them were dressed as their actual age. The Briton stroked Alfred's chest and led him to the front door with nothing more than a teasing wave of his hand. "Ready to go?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," came the reply, as they stepped out. Alfred was more than aware that this meant displaying his dead gorgeous boyfriend to the rest of his people, and kept an extra protective state of mind on him, a hand barely touching the small of his back in a highly possessive gesture. "So, where is it we're going?"

* * *

><p>"There it is." Arthur murmured gladly, resting his arms upon the stone wall as he looked on at the well-made structure of the tower of London. Back in the day, nobody else had seen anything like it. When William the Conqueror built it in the 1080s, it was as much a simple masterpiece as it is now. From a fortress, to a palace and then to a prison, the tower of London had so many stories and legends that he could not even hope to tell Alfred in one afternoon. "...Served as a prison for a lot of its days, but it has its own secrets too. I believe that several skeletons were buried in one of the walls, some conspiracy to do with the monarchy, but I've avoided paying attention to it too much."<p>

It didn't look very big, compared to some things, or very grand, but it had a style of its own. It was solemn looking now that Arthur had described the history - creepy too. Alfred felt a few chills run down his spine. "...I really don't like skeletons," was the comment. Vampires, zombies, cool. Not skeletons, however. "It's not very friendly lookin', now is it?"

"It's not _supposed_ to be," Arthur grinned maliciously, something peculiar glinting in his eye as he gazed upon up, head now nestled in his hands. Re-living many memories. "Historically, it's a horrible place. Dangerous and mythical combined. Do you know about the Ravens of the tower?"

The blue eyes went wide like a little kid's. Personally, Alfred didn't like ravens much either, after what they did to Poe, and he didn't want to hear much. "No..." He admitted. "It's probably really boring, right...?"

"It concerns me, actually. On a more personal level," Arthur purred, gazing upwards at their cleverly rounded steeples. "'If the ravens leave the Tower, the Kingdom will fall'. If the six ravens in the tower - mind, there are seven right now, just in case - then apparently it signifies my death. Charles II insisted it, and the King's word always is truth in this country. Or at least, it was back when the Monarchy had power."

Ravens meaning death? Oh, fuck. "Arthur, sweetheart, for you...I'd catch all the ravens in the world and cram them into that tower. That's fucking terrible." Stupid kings and their stupid ideas! And Arthur- the man's eyes were shining! How on earth was he not creeped out by this ghetto tower, Alfred seriously wondered. "Let's go to the next place...it's cold."

"It's fine, Alfred. One of each of their wings are clipped to stop them from flight. Not that they would like to leave regardless. My birds are treated like royalty. In fact, Ivan's boss popped around at some point. One of the ravens said 'Good Morning' to each of his men!" Arthur told him in a surprisingly soft, nurturing tone. "I have been cheating death in this way for quite a while now, I lead myself to believe. I might be striving for immortality more than I should."

White grey swirls of cloud reigned overhead, a bright, cold day, and Alfred looked at his boyfriend's perfectly serene face. In his own habitat, his world, every colour on him was perfect, ivories and emeralds, the contrast remarkable. He was beautiful in a godlike way. "Keep striving. We've wasted so much time before. We gotta make up for it with the rest of forever. Better not die on me. 'specially not for a few ravens." Alfred leaned up against the wall, looking at him.

"Don't worry, my love. I don't intend on dying yet," Arthur smirked in return, eyes set alight with a sense of life beyond that which he usually displayed - though the smile did seem unusually out of place. Sadness possibly existing underneath. The sun was shining behind him, with a practical halo of light surrounding his figure. He look a liberty, reaching out and taking hold of Alfred's hand. A quick squeeze was all the reassurance that the Briton was willing to give. "Not when I have something in particular to live for."

Sweetest thing his old man ever said. Alfred squeezed back at the promising pressure, it was such a beautiful, picturesque scene. How could he waste it? "Better live forever." Their lips were smashed together, dominating hands pushing him up securely against the railing.

Thank Gosh for that railing as well, or Arthur would have most likely toppled off of the wall due to the force of that kiss. Despite how public they were, in a country that had still not altogether accepted homosexuality with another that had the same problem, Arthur did not give it a thought or a care. He kissed back, hand pushing into Alfred's hair.

In turn, Alfred deepened the kiss and swept his tongue inside, forcefully tasting and probing and feeling and making him melt as best as he could. One blue eye flicked open - some shocked tourists, a couple of disgusted businessmen - who cared?

There was only Arthur, his Arthur, in his arms.

Not too long afterwards, Arthur pulled out of the kiss and swallowed gulps of air. He kept close, noses brushing as he panted lightly against Alfred's lips, little trail of saliva between them taking its time before breaking. He gave one clear, precise laugh and massaged Alfred's head through his hair. "...First time you've kissed me in public..." He said.

Alfred's hands slipped from his shoulders to his thin waist, well hidden by that shirt of his, looking him over. "It wouldn't be the last," came the proud promise. Alfred loved his boyfriend and would show him off to anyone.

Arthur reached up, brushing a few strands out of Alfred's face and away from his glasses so that he could look at his lover easily in the eyes. A light but knowing smile appeared on Arthur's face; the rarest of treats, a subtle reminder that he was happy. "I know it won't." He said quietly. "...Come on, let's go get something to eat."

* * *

><p>Omnomnomnom. Nomnomnom. Nom - Alfred finished his third burger and wiped his mouth with a napkin, grinning. "Gee, Art, was sure nice of you to let us eat here, hahaha!" The American picked up a fourth and unwrapped it, inhaling the heavenly scent and took another large bite of bread, lettuce, tomato, cheese, beef, onions, pickles, and saucy goodness. "'ow 'ours?"<p>

Arthur just stared blankly at his boyfriend, crooked and uncertain look on his face. He had held up one of his chicken nuggets to his lips but had not taken a single bite of his food. Nice of Alfred not to notice he hadn't, just saying. He had gotten too distracted by the American's eating habits to rid his hunger himself. "...E-Er..." Arthur hesitantly raised a finger and indicated around his mouth. "You've got, erm. A bit of sauce..."

"Hm?" Alfred tried to look down, swallowing his mouthful, sauce and grease all over his mouth. He was really not the most attractive man when eating McDonalds... "I don't see it. Lick it off?" He teased at his boyfriend.

"Uh." Arthur groaned, taking one of the napkins that he had cunningly collected earlier and dabbed it on Alfred's chin to get rid of the excess sauce that had dribbled down as a substitute for his lips. "Look, Alfred. When I thought of us having a day out together, romantically, I really did not think of... _this place_."

The American stayed still until after he'd finished his cleaning then took another bite of his cheeseburger. "It was a romantic day! We kissed!" His voice was excited, cheerful, and oh dear, there went the fourth burger. "Besides, this place is totally romantic. There are... flowers on the window sill." He unwrapped his fifth and last burger, taking another bite. "Mmmm."

"Yes. Plastic flowers that are just about as romantic as a pigeon defecating." The Briton quickly retorted, placing his hand on his cheek. "Look... much as I do not want to be the sort of person that mothers you at every opportunity - do you not think that you're eating too much? And too quickly? If you get indigestion on the way back to mine, I will say 'I told you so' and be proud about it."

"You're acting like such a woman, Artie," came the comment, as the American licked his fingers and finished off the fifth just as fast as the first. He gave Arthur a small smile. "No worries. I've done all this before and more, I'll be fine!" All the trash, he layered onto one tray, grabbing another napkin and wiping off his fingers.

Arthur eyed the now empty pile of burger wrappers, feeling his own stomach churn at the thought of chugging all of those down. Suddenly, he was even less hungry than he thought he was. "A woman, was it...? Yes, well." He paused, taking a deep steadying breath. "Honestly, I was expecting you to direct us to a nice fancy restaurant so we could, I don't know, _bond_ over a nice meal and a nice atmosphere. Rather than being surrounded by kicking and screaming kids, this is."

Alfred could hear the slight bit of disappointment in his lover's voice, and quickly backtracked, wiping his mouth clean. "Sweetheart, it's only six. And you know...we could still go to a nice place, huh? How about that?" And after thought, a quick comment. "You make this place fancy and valuable to me."

"Not when you've had five burgers and are soon likely to be offered the entirety of my chicken nuggets as well, we aren't. You'll be too full to eat later." Arthur complained, dropping the nugget in his hand and passing the whole MaccyD's meal towards the American. He sat back in his chair afterwards, crossing his arms. "Lovely as the sweet talk is, it has no merit. A child screamed in my ear earlier, I hope you know. I only said yes to coming here because you looked like I kicked Bambi when I initially refused."

"Honey, precious-" The American got up and went behind that chair. "We can still make romance without a fancy dinner, can't we? We'll have a nice walk later...I'll get you some roses, your favourites, alright?" Some of it was whispered into his ear, the American's hands rubbing at the soft skin at his boyfriend's collar, the base of his neck.

Arthur scowled, tipping his neck away and looking off in another direction, refusing to fall prey to Alfred's subtle techniques - or to at least to give him the impression that it was not working. He did, however, release the tension in his shoulders in tune with Alfred's rubs. "You should know by now that I am not that easy." Lies, every word of it.

His boyfriend hummed and manoeuvred his hands over to gently rub over his shoulders, cooing in encouragement as he felt the tension leave, breath still tickling the back of Arthur's next. "Hey. I never said you were,_ beautiful_. I was just wondering if you wanted to go on a date, Hm? Look at how tense you are..." The fingers kneaded into a few hard kinks in his boyfriend's neck area. "Just say yes."

"...I... I won't fall to your cheap tricks and lunacy!" Arthur objected, covering his face with one outstretched hand. Gosh, with Alfred acting like this, he wondered how many children were looking unto them with interest and parents in disgust. Finally, taking no more of it, he grumbled and threw his hands in the air. "Fine! Let's! Christ, let's get a fucking _gondola_ and sing about moons and pizzas! Drown ourselves in wine and have sex on the streets! Gosh, our evening will be so damned active!" He added sarcastically.

"Not that that isn't totally appealing to me," came the reply. "But keep your lovely voice down. There's a little girl over there, and she just ran away." The American straightened in triumph, and pulled his boyfriend up with him. "Come on. I know where we can go..."

* * *

><p>Now, when he first came out, he did expect that he would end up having bollocks thrust deliberately straight in front of his face; but not quite like this. Arthur watched - unable to look away, totally mesmerised - as one of the strippers monopolised him, rocking his hips in time with the overly loud music and pressing his shoulders back into the comfortable but squeaky sofa seats. He eyed Alfred to the side of him, trying to forget the blush on his cheeks and the fact he was crossing his legs very, very hard. A significantly tipsy look was dominating the Briton's features, and he took another hard sip of his cocktail. Ha, get it? Cock. "...Whutsimatter? You've hardly touched your drink...!" He slurred, arching up as the stripper ran his hands down his chest.<p>

At that, Alfred glanced over, his expression half amused and half annoyed, watching for now with his arms crossed. _Unlike_ Arthur, his legs were not crossed, but like him, he was getting hard and hot and just wasn't bothering to hide it. Personally, he thought Arthur was cuter and far more sexy than any one in the entire building, and he thought that maybe Arthur was drinking one cocktail too many, but - "Hey." The American's hand reached out and slapped the stripper's deviating hand _away_ from his boyfriend's crotch. "That's not yours," he informed, his eyes constantly on his boyfriend now rather than the mass of moving men in front of him.

"Alfred—He's just doing his job." Arthur defended the stripper, and nodded so that the muscular and barely concealed man could start riding his lap again. The Briton squirmed slightly, licking his lips and relaxing back easily. "As I recall... y'were the one that wanted tuh come 'ere... cus it's a laugh or summat..." His accent jumped all around the Kingdom when he was in a half-drunken state, speech impaired enough to reflect that he had been drinking some. He did think at first it was strange, but he had gotten into it so quickly. It was far too clear how homosexual Arthur was, when he was put in this type of position. Quite literally.

And as hot as that position was, Alfred could feel jealousy now with his arousal. It was probably just that Arthur was drunk beyond belief, wasted, horny, hot, but it did still give his boyfriend chills when another man got that close, and was defended by that sweet mouth. "It is a laugh, Art...don't you think you've had too much to drink, now?" Alfred plucked the beverage out of the Briton's hand and sipped some, eyes roaming through the crowd again.

There. A slightly shorter, brown haired creature danced by, and the American boldly pulled him over by that - was that a skirt? Wasn't a kilt - he wad wearing, pressing a five dollar bill into his clothing, making sure that Arthur could see even in his drunken state. The brown-haired male gave a seductive smile, understanding the situation.

"N-Nonshunce..." Arthur fumbled with his words again, before he glanced over at his boyfriend; just in time to spot the American slipping a crisp bill into another stripper's clothing. Dollars as well - poor man would have to exchange it and everything! What was he doing? Well! Two can play at this ridiculous game. He grabbed his own stripper by the shoulders, gazing up at him. "Come on, Pablo, you Portuguese beauty. Show me what you can do." He moaned and tipped his head back as the stripper rocked harder, also rubbing himself against his chest. "Ohh..."

It earned him a glare from his boyfriend. So he thought that that was something? Letting the stripper touch all over that skin that was purely Alfred's, no one else was allowed... Alfred pulled his own fair skinned beauty onto his lap, grinding up into him, running hands down his sweat soaked back, and allowed the man to cascade hot breath against his shoulder, his neck, ever so close to his mouth. "Good... Mmm. They don't make ones like you back in the states- or here." It was just loud enough to let them all hear, their frictional dance continuing, and the man whispered back dirty things and ran his small hands down Alfred's chest in appreciation, moaning over exaggeratedly for show.

Arthur felt his heart strike the hour and ring alarmingly when he spotted Alfred and the other stripper getting close and personal. Far as he knew, touching like that was against the rules of strip clubs - it was usually look, but do not touch. Pangs of jealousy pierced through him. How could Alfred do that to him? One more bad move, and he would have to intervene. Stepping it up a notch in return, Arthur slipped his legs from underneath his own stripper and spread them so he could slot in-between and get closer to him, hands straying in places Arthur tried not to think about - desperate to give his boyfriend a taste of bitter medicine.

Meanwhile, Alfred hadn't noticed yet, he'd pushed more money into that tight slot, running his hands over his stripper's hips, down, down, under that short skirt- he saw Arthur. All time stopped. Was he...was his boyfriend...his own sexy, adorable, precious, beloved boyfriend- spreading those gorgeous legs for someone _else_? Were his eyes smouldering with the molten passion for another man? This wasn't allowed, no, the American felt his steely heart burn...

The brown-haired man on his lap looked at his client questioningly, wondering whether he was to back off now, or - Alfred slipped him off, pushed him aside, and furiously, enviously pulled Arthur away - none too gently - from the tall, handsome Portuguese man, slamming him up against the nearest wall and roughly forced their lips together, furious. "How dare you - I'll fucking show..."

"Oh, you'll fucking show me will you, Alfred?" Arthur snapped at him, half drunken eyes narrowing dangerously and bordering-on-crazily. He pushed up against his boyfriend - hands, rather than chest and the stomach that usually arched up into him - in efforts to shove the other off of him. "Will you show me again how you're rutting up against that slutty brunet like a rabbit with a fever? Or are you going to go and dominate whatever _idiot_ falls for your boyish charms, just because you can make a fool out of all of us? Well, Alfred?" Oh, Arthur was _pissed_.

And Alfred wasn't any less pissed, really. He held Arthur there against the wall, using all his superpower strength, trapping the smaller man. "Oh, so _I'm_ the problem! That's real nice, what about you?" Voice filled with anger and jealousy still, blue eyes flaming, volume rising until the floor had formed a little arc around them as people wanted to avoid a scene.

"I'm the one with a problem when you're...you're my boyfriend! And you're just sucking up to some...freak, moaning against him, you're saying I'm supposed to tolerate that? You're saying I had to tolerate you practically begging for that guy to bang you, you're acting like...like... Like a total _whore_!"

The resulting and resounding smack echoed even over the top of the music, and Arthur's hand burned with pain as soon as it left Alfred's cheek. His brows were knitted in such a furrowed manner, so angrily, so rarely that it looked so unusual on Arthur's face. The expression was not unknown, but not at that extent - not that hurt.

"..._You will not talk to me like that_." Arthur hissed, clenching his fists and huffing.

Alfred looked too in shock. He stood there for a bit, motionless, his cheek was numb, his mind more so. Had Arthur just hit him? Really, actually hit him? It couldn't be, it wad just wrong, it - it -..."I'll talk how I want to, it's a damn free country. You think you weren't? You acted _low_."

People around them were starting to move away, whispers started, and Alfred- Alfred grabbed Arthur tightly around the wrist, pulling him along, out of the noise and the heat and the mess and tension inside the building. Outside, it was a half moon, hardly seen stars, cold air. Their breath fogged up into white smoke, and the American shoved Arthur away from him. "Explain yourself, honestly." A growl. "You shouldn't have done so much of that. Or we're over."

Arthur stumbled backwards as Alfred let go of him, soon finding a brick wall behind him to lean against as he glared up into similarly heated eyes. Behind those spectacles, Alfred was possibly the most furious he had seen him in a _long_ time. The words he spoke was like poison. Finally, Arthur's expression was starting to relax - especially when he heard those words. _Over_?

"...I don't know if you noticed, but I kept it clean. No physical contact except hands. _You_ were the one that pulled the other stripper on top of you and started to hump him as if... a-as if... as if he were _me_!" The tipsy Brit sucked in a sudden and desperate breath, externally shuddering. Tears were in his eyes. "What is it? Am I just not good enough for you? Is that it?"

Alfred stopped. His angel was crying. Crying. Tears, his anger just melted away, seeing those translucent drops made him feel weak. "Arthur...Arthur, don't cry. That's not it. Don't cry." Tear stains, Alfred looked into those miserable eyes, then sighed. This was going way too far.

"I didn't want you to act like that with anyone else but _me_! If that's not it, then what _is_ it? Well?" Arthur sobbed, hands wobbling as he brought them up to his eyes; rubbing his lids to try knock the moisture away. "...G-Go to Hell!"

Alfred came up, attempted to pull Arthur into his arms. "Going to Hell already, Arthur, precious, don't cry...I wasn't thinking like that." Of course his boyfriend didn't mean anything bad. Arthur was sensitive, Arthur was rash - but he wasn't by any means a cheater or a whore. And now Alfred had made him cry. Guilt and regret.

"Don't think you can sugar coat things and expect it to suddenly become so, so much easier!" Arthur scathed, trying to pull out. He suddenly ducked and went underneath Alfred's arms, charging a few metres away from the American before he could react. Turns out, Arthur could really be a slippery bugger when he tried. Tears, by now, were _streaming_ down the drunk Englishman's face. "Get lost, you bastard! D-Don't bother coming after me!"

"No, no, wait-!" Damn, Alfred had really made a giant mess of things! He ran after his Boyfriend, who was currently intoxicated and running amok. "Arthur, get back here and listen! Arthur...!"

"Why am I never good enough for you? I-I... after all of these years, I thought you were beginning to forgive me—But that was a lie, wasn't it? You prick! Git! Dolt! How dare you!" Arthur screeched at him, pointing accusing fingers and attracting some action by people driving past. He sobbed harder, moisture running down his cheeks quicker than he could wipe away.

Crap, and Alfred had thought that he'd finally gotten over all that with their new relationship. He caught onto Arthur's arm and pulled him back, carefully, taking him to a corner and quickly pressing their mouths together, softly. "Shh. Calm down first, Arthur, please calm down..."

As Alfred kissed him, Arthur did the opposite to what was expected. Instead of pulling away and insisting that Alfred left him alone, he kissed back needily; pressing into his boyfriend's arms. Once they parted, he stood still shaking and with his face all wet - though he was not crying any more. "I-I love you..." He sniffed.

The tears were wiped away by long, warm fingers, and Alfred held the little trembling figure close. "I love you too. How can I not love you...you're perfect, we're perfect, just relax, it'll be okay..." Meaningful nothings, as the American guided them back.

"Y-You prat. Whatever could you love about me? T-there's nothing! I've got nothing—no merits, no fortés, I'm not even a bloody empire anymore! I'm worthless now!" He quivered, lulling his head atop Alfred's shoulder and sticking close, holding onto his boyfriend's waist now as they were guided away from the night-life of the city and back towards home.

"You don't have to be an empire! You're fucking beautiful. Best one in that entire damn club, and the entire damn world. You're perfect. Why do you think I was so pissed stupid Portugal guy got you?" Soft kisses to his temple, warm promises in the chilly London air. "You're not worthless, Arthur. You're part of me."

"Why do you even like me... it makes no sense..." Arthur continued to drone, wiping the wetness out of his eyes while he continued to stick close to the other. "You should hate me. You shouldn't like me. Not like... n-not like this..."

"Like what, exactly?" Hate Arthur? No way. The arms around the small figured tightened, comfortingly. "You've just had too much to drink."

"No one has ever loved me before," He said quietly and solemnly, attaching himself to the other nation like a leech for love and affection. His wants were always more bold when he was drunk, because the barriers he internally erected against speaking what was plaguing his mind had been broken down. "They've lusted. France has used me - heck, I've used him. Portugal... oh, Port. He told me he loved me a long time ago, but that was a lie, wasn't it? I've been lying to myself, thinking that oh! Oh, maybe that's not true. Maybe he really does love... me... but it's a fucking lie, ennit? I don't get it. Why you? Nobody has... n-not when I love them too! Things aren't supposed to go _right_ like this!"

Alfred held him back just as tightly, sighing a bit, kissing the shorter man's forehead tenderly, lovingly. "Dear God, Arthur." Such a tortured life, and for so long. England was crazy old, compared to America at the very least. They passed streetlights, a light drizzle drenched the pavement, a heavy London fog. Arthur's faded doorstep came into sight, and Alfred directed them towards it. "It'll be better in the morning, darlin'. You're drunk. Let's get to bed, huh?"

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><p><strong>SSS (StarSpangledSilence) is 'bad at comments! :3 she reads all the reviews though'!<strong>

**I'm worse comment-wise, so I'll let you guys react as you will~!**

**Sorry, we as authors have been cock-blocks this entire chapter, I don't know if you've noticed. But I personally promise you that the next one will be more rewarding on that respect.**

**Ta ta~3!**

**Thanks for reading, honestly.**

**Love, SSS and Des.**


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